The Darkest Shade
by YouLookLikeFOOD
Summary: A story about the Symbiote. When Brock is killed, it takes on a new host; the person who killed him. But there are other things stirring; enemies of the symbiote that no one even knew existed... Rated for Violence and Language.
1. Chapter 1

The first day of school was always a bitch. The first day of school when everyone else was already halfway through the year was a son of a bitch.

Everything else was just bitchy anyway.

Shade sighed, leaning against her locker and flipping through a book. Her black t-shirt hugged every curve on her body, of which she had absolutely none, so that was highlighted very nicely. Her grey jacket hung loosely at her sides in an attempt to mask what her shirt pointed out. And her jeans were ripped up and bell-bottomed, giving her an altogether different look. Underneath her jeans, though you couldn't tell because they were so long, she was completely barefoot. She kept a pair of loud green sneakers in her bag, just in case, but really, she never found herself needing them anywhere but in gym.

The overall effect, given her completely plain-Jane face, the nose in the book, and the complete seclusion from everyone else, was, in polite terms, a geek. The nose in the book did nothing to help this image.

Shade peered over the book's bindings. Maybe not a geek. Maybe a hippie. She considered getting some colorful bead necklaces and some peace sign earrings to add to that image, but decided against it. She wasn't here to set herself up as anyone in any kind of social status. She was here for an education, just like her mother always said. Not for friends, and certainly not for a boyfriend.

_So stop scoping him out, _she scolded herself mentally, forcing her head to turn away from a tall, blonde, football-player type of guy. He wasn't her type anyway; she'd met a few guys who played football. Some were jerks, some were all right. But, in the end, she wasn't the kind of girl to get overly excited about some boy kicking a ball around.

_Whoopdidoo, _she thought, packing away one of her books into her locker and pulling out another one. The bell rang, signaling the end of break and the beginning of the hell that was Chemistry. She sighed, threw her bag over her shoulder, and headed off to room 201.

Once there, she waited for the inevitable, handing the teacher her note. He consulted it quietly, then nodded, holding up a hand to keep her standing there in the front of the classroom like an idiot. She rolled her eyes and waited, trying not to look at the other students who were filing in. They didn't notice her now; she just looked like a kid asking a teacher a question. Nothing out of the ordinary. But then the tardy bell rang. The teacher looked around, then addressed his class.

"Everyone," he said in a clear voice. Shade forced herself to turn to them and felt her cheeks burn. They were all staring at her. Joy. "This is Shade; she's new to the school. I hope you will all make her feel welcome."

It was so trite. So typical. She frowned.

And was flicked by a paperclip.

It struck her on the shoulder; the classroom erupted in a bunch of giggles. Shade just sighed as the teacher immediately demanded to know who'd committed this new atrocity, but Shade just scanned the room for an empty seat and tried to slouch in it. Apparently, it was taken; the girl next to it hissed this information out and threw her own books on the desk to prove her point. Shade just blinked and backed away, ending up near the back of the classroom in a nice, empty seat. She couldn't see the board over the heads of the taller students, but she didn't really care about that. It was nicer in the back. More private. And she could hear everything, so what did sight matter?

Class started a minute later, with the paperclip-thrower still at large and unpunished. Shade traced a quick trajectory with her eyes and came up with three suspects. She didn't say a word about it, but she filed the information away for later use. Who knew? Maybe she'd run into one of them later and realize to avoid them before something more dreadful happened than something so stupid as a paperclip.

_Something more original, hopefully, _she thought dryly. Paperclips, after all, were so blasé.

Another ten minutes into class and a bookish, geeky-looking boy stumbled into the room. He had a tousle of light brown hair and the reflexes of a three-legged dog. He almost fell to the ground in his haste to get inside, panting and puffing.

"Late again, Parker!" Someone called, amid a chorus of laughter and booing.

"Better luck next time, Pete!" Someone else shouted. Shade watched in fascination as, blushing, he ducked into his own seat. It was the same one that she had been ejected from earlier, though the girl who had shooed her away seemed no more pleased to see this 'Parker' sitting in that same spot.

"Yes," the teacher mused. "I am afraid you've been late once too often, Mr. Parker; if this continues, I will have to give you detention."

"Yes sir, won't happen again, sir," Parker recited the words quickly, like he had done this many times but was nonetheless unhappy about it. There were a few muted snickers at his use of the word 'sir', but then the class quieted again.

Shade found herself drawn to the man. He wasn't exactly her type, either. In fact, he wasn't even remotely cute; just a little bit odd. Given his reputation and looks, he was probably the only guy in the school she had a chance with, but that wasn't what drew her eyes to him throughout the entire lesson.

It was the way he'd stumbled into the classroom.

A few years back, Shade had taken drama lessons. She'd never been very good at it, and not because she couldn't act. Because she couldn't handle being in front of a bunch of people. During that time, she'd learned a few things about stage fighting, and, in a much more fun vein, pretending to be drunk. She'd gotten quite good at it, but that wasn't the point. The point was, she'd seen the mistakes people made when trying to be drunk; they didn't slur too badly, they didn't stumble the right way, they didn't sway right… even she couldn't identify what it was individually, but could see the effect on the whole. She knew when someone was pretending.

And, in effect, she knew when someone was pretending to be a klutz. Parker, without a shadow of a doubt, was definitely pretending. He was good at it, but that didn't mean anything. The way he'd all but collapsed onto his seat, the way he'd fallen over everything, even things that weren't really in his way…

And then, as Shade continued to watch, she saw something else, something even more curious. Throughout the class, when a student became bored, they would flick something at the back of his head. It happened to Shade, too, occasionally. Not in the back, but on her shoulder or forehead, and once a little too close to her eye. But, what was very interesting was that, seconds before the object hit, Parker would flinch.

It wasn't obvious at first; it took her a long time of watching to even notice. It was a reaction that he couldn't stop, a simple wince before it would strike. Even when he couldn't see the object coming for him, even when there was no possible way he could see it coming. Almost like he guessed the intentions of the person throwing it, he would know when something was coming for him.

But, if that were the case, then why didn't he just move away? Why didn't he duck away from the object before it hit him? Shade felt a spitball land near her ear and hissed quietly; she certainly would move away if she had the opportunity. She hated the constant branding of 'geek.' She hated the mockery of the class, hated being the subject of their constant teasing for no reason other than that she was new here. Parker, however, seemed to revel in it, even playing it up.

And yet… there was an annoyed spark in his eyes that couldn't be denied. He didn't like this any more than she did.

After a grueling hour of chemistry-just because she was a geek didn't mean she was smart- she sighed, shouldered her bag, and was out of the door when the bell rang. She caught sight of Parker dodging to his next class, weaving in and out of the people there with calculated awkwardness. She frowned and went off to her next class-math.

After that was over, lunch began; she pulled out a sack lunch and sighed at the jelly-infused bread in her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Teenagers banded together to go off campus and get an energy drink and some donuts from the gas station near by; she comforted herself with the thought that, unlike them, she wouldn't be in a diabetic coma before she graduated.

She caught sight of Parker again; he was hanging out with some friends. So he had friends; that was refreshing. Another geeky-looking but not all together unattractive kid with slightly thicker arms and nice eyes, and a pretty young girl with red hair. They talked, they laughed, they had a good time. Shade tried to get the peanut butter off the roof of her mouth and failed miserably. She sighed and packed up her lunch; she wasn't hungry anyway.

She threw it into the trash can, considered ditching for the rest of the day, then decided against it. She ducked into the restroom and hung out there for a while, leaning against the wall and giving a death glare to anyone who dared enter. Bathrooms in a public school were the best place to be; always cooler or warmer than the air outside, as needed, when you weren't allowed in the classrooms. And, right now, it was a lot warmer, thank goodness.

She warmed her stiff fingers with the air dryer, but was stopped by the sound of a fire alarm; she rolled her eyes and pushed the door out of her way.

And almost ran smack into something tall, black, and slimy.

"Watch it!" She shouted, then stopped cold. The creature in front of her was large, lithe, and inhuman. Its muscles rippled underneath a dark black costume, and when it turned to her, pointed teeth ripped open in a wide smile. A long, ugly tongue big enough to use as a jump rope lashed back and forth as it hissed in her direction.

It turned and started towards her. Clawed hands reached towards her, clamping around her head as she stood, petrified.

"Where," it asked darkly, "Is… _Park-"_

The creature was cut off abruptly by a flash of blue and red, striking it in the side. The two objects rolled away from each other and ended up on their feet together, barely a few feet apart. They began to circle each other, giving Shade a good look of them both. The red and blue one had a black web stretched around its costume, and a humanoid shape. It was much smaller and thinner than the black one, but still well-muscled.

_Ah, _Shade realized. _So this is the infamous Spider-Man. _She hesitated. _Kinda hunky for a guy in his underwear. _

"Get out of here!" He shouted. "Now! _Run!"_

Shade blinked, a little stunned by this turn of events. In that nanosecond, her brain sped up, gathering up the information of everything around her.

First, there was a gnarly-looking super-villain standing in front of her. Second, a super-hero was telling her she needed to run away from said gnarly-looking super-villain. Third, she really didn't _want _to run away. She really wanted to punch that thing in the face. Mostly because it was ugly. And because it really wasn't in her nature to run away. And because the thing looked like it wanted to kill her. And everyone else in the whole school.

The creature laughed; a snarling, disgusting sound. Shade turned and ran in the other direction, but not for the reason that Spider-Man might have thought.

She raced towards the stairs. She hadn't been in this school for more than a day, but she knew some of the nooks and crannies. Mostly because she'd explored it when she'd accidentally arrived an hour too early.

She put this knowledge to use as she dove towards a door separating the second floor from another stairway; one that led directly up to the roof. She dashed up there quickly, and was immediately glad she had. The two costumed figures were both climbing up the walls, fighting there by launching at each other, the black one throwing claws while the red and blue one dodged and ducked.

Shade ran across the edge of the roof, her feet sure and swift. If there was one thing she was good at, it was running. She was socially inept to an extreme, had a bad attitude, and couldn't follow orders to save her life. But there were three things she _was _good at: lying, cheating on tests, and _running_.

She raced along the edge of the roof until she reached the place where the two masked figures were battling it out. She stayed there, poised and ready, for just a brief second. Then, seeing her moment, she jumped.

Shade hadn't lived a particularly exciting life. She'd never been skydiving or anything like that. But she watched the occasional extreme sports commercial. She knew the basics about skydiving; how to shift your weight a bit in the right direction, streamline your body to go faster and spread it out to go slower. She put that knowledge into effect and knifed her body to the side, feeling her hand slice through the air as she turned in the direction of the black-suited figure.

She slammed into it painfully; the impact threw both of them off the building, down towards the ground. The black-suited figure threw out a hand, and something dark flew out of his wrist; a strand of thick webbing. She heard a faint stream of curses as she threw out a hand, breaking through the webbing a bit too easily; the black, sticky substance seemed to retreat at her touch.

Though the webbing had slowed down their decent slightly, they were still going down too quickly. Shade pummeled the thing's gut as they went; ready to go out guns blazing if necessary. It was insane. It was even a bit morbid, that someone so young should be prepared to die so easily, in a battle she didn't know anything about. But Shade didn't care about that; her father had taught her one thing in life, and likely it was not the lesson he'd wished for. But he had taught her to fight; to fight and to die if necessary.

But the other guy would have to go down with her. She had to win her fight, no matter the cost.

The creature in black tried to bring a claw to her face and threw up another hand, throwing webbing out to the wall; this time, it missed, as their chaotic struggle was undoubtedly throwing off his aim.

Another strand of webbing- white this time- caught them as they fell. Undoubtedly from Spider-Man; he wouldn't want an 'innocent bystander' to die, naturally. Shade growled under her breath, grateful that she might not die but upset that he'd caught the black-suited figure as well.

Another strand caught them, but it had only a small effect as, at last, the two crashed into the concrete.

The creature howled; it had not screamed on the way down, undoubtedly thinking that it would be able to catch itself. Shade, though another strand of Spider-Man's webbing -possibly fired at the same time as the other- had caught her in the back, also faced a large amount of damage as the black creature hit the earth. Her bones were vibrating, and her muscles felt like jelly; though she had landed on the creature and not the ground, there was still a large amount of force behind the crash. She was surprised she was alive, though not ungrateful.

But the battle wasn't over yet. The creature was still screaming; there was blood pooling around it, and its suit seemed to have sprung to life, black tentacles twisting and writhing about in agony, stretching out towards Shade, and towards Spider-Man, who was on his way down even now. The creature itself-the one inside the suit- was crying out, an unearthly noise that grated against Shade's ears. It was amazing the thing wasn't dead yet, and probably would be attributed to the fact that it, like Spider-Man, seemed to possess a strength unknown to Shade, and all other ordinary humans.

But Shade wasn't done yet. Trembling, her entire body feeling battered and bruised from the landing, she reached out and took its head in her hands.

There was red, sticky blood all over his head, and the suit was reacting to protect him, though its tentacles seemed to dissolve when it touched her. Shade didn't let either of these facts bother her as she gripped his head tightly, lifted it up off the ground, and slammed it down _hard._

She did this again and again, unable to put much power behind the blows at first, but then drawing more blood, hearing things crack. She drove her knee into the area where his nose would be if she could see it, and threw blow after blow with her fists afterwards, her strength returning slightly as adrenaline continued to flood her system. The thing stopped screaming. There was more blood; lots more. More cracking sounds.

Finally, something grabbed her by the shoulder and threw her back; she flew backwards and hit the ground on her rear, skidding painfully before she slid to a stop.

"STOP!" A near-hysterical Spider-Man ordered. "What do you think you're _doing? _You could _kill _him!"

Shade pulled herself to her feet. _No shit!_ She wanted to scream, but found she had no voice. She rested her hands on her knees, doubling over and panting with exhaustion. It was only then that she saw the horrified looks she was getting, from teacher and student alike, as they peered out from doors and windows, recognizing that the black-suited danger was gone.

But perhaps a new one had arisen; the way they were looking at Shade… she felt her gut twist. There were all sorts of terrible accusations in those eyes, as well as childlike horror. Shade's cheeks burned, and she looked down. Down to the blood on the ground, which was running into a drain…

Only it wasn't all blood. Something black and viscous was running into the drain as well; Spider-Man called, "Stop it!" But it was too late. It was gone.

Spider-Man huffed a heavy sigh but didn't turn away from the man on the ground- the man who was no longer wearing his black suit. Seeing the damage that had been done twisted Shade's stomach further, but she pushed it aside. Spider-Man was futilely pounding the man's chest, trying to start his heart again. Shade hovered by his side, feeling slightly numb as she did so.

"Well?" he asked, his words a snarl. "Call an ambulance!" He shrieked.

Shade blinked; why would she do that? "He tried to kill us," She tried to infuse the right amount of anger into her words, but they came out blank and dead.

"_Call the damn ambulance!" _Spider-Man shouted furiously, trying to tie up the wound on his head.

"He's gone," there was a little more anger in her voice now; she gripped his shoulder, and he threw her off. "He's dead! Don't you get it? He's _dead!_"

"_**And you killed him!**_" The costumed figure roared, standing away from the body and suddenly in Shade's face, moving so quickly that it would have seemed impossible. "You killed a man in cold blood!"

"He was trying to _kill me!_"

"It wasn't his fault!" Spider-Man screamed. "It was that _thing _that _you _let _get away!_" he jabbed a finger towards the drain. There were damp spots under the eyes in his mask; he sounded hysterical, furious, and horrifically depressed all at the same time.

Shade almost threw back another retort, shoving him back with red-stained hands, when the sirens-which she only now realized had been steadily building in volume-, finally reached their peak. Police cars pulled onto the campus grounds.

_Little late, guys, _Shade couldn't help thinking. But Spider-Man leapt onto the building.

"This. Isn't. Over," he growled, like every other villain would. Shade's fury had returned, making her tremble as badly as all of her other wounds. But Spider-Man was gone, leaping away over the building and off into some distant place that Shade couldn't be bothered to look for; she twirled around and tried to stalk away, but was stopped by a police officer, who took careful note of the blood she was covered in.

"Where the hell were _you?" _She demanded of him, ignoring his suspicious glare. "For shit's sake, a _pizza delivery _could have been here faster!"

He tried to bluster something in response, but she blew him off, eyes ablaze and features twisted in anger. "Forget it!" She shouted, then shakily stalked towards the ambulance, which had arrived a few seconds after the cop cars. She swaggered and swayed; the day had taken a lot out of her, a lot that her anger couldn't really replace.

She almost made it there before she passed out.

* * *

It had known hatred.

All of its existence had circled around the darker emotions of humanity; anger, rage, pain. It had poked and prodded at these emotions, stoking them as though they were gentle flames, swelling them into great infernos. It had fed off of this dark energy, this black emotion that swirled around in the chaotic abyss that was the human mind. It had tainted human memory, twisted all past things into pain, and made its hosts turn that pain onto the rest of the world. It had given them a past, present, and future of only darkness, but it had also given them power. All it needed was that hatred, and it would give them more power than they would ever know.

It had known the taste of hatred from some of the greatest monsters, greatest dictators of all time, as well as some who had never amounted to anything in History's eyes. It had guided and directed people to greatness on many different tracks; some had conquered cities and nations. Some had conquered minds and hearts, and then shattered them with cruel reality. But they had all gotten what they needed in the end, what they wanted in their darkest hours, so long as they trusted it to take care of them.

And then he found someone with just the smallest taste of hatred in him; a boy named Peter Parker. But oh, was he powerful. Powerful enough that it wanted him, wanted to control him. Those little flames of anger in poor Peter's heart could be swelled, and thus they were. He'd lost his uncle, after all; that had to make him angry. He'd lived a good life and been mistreated by the world. He had no way to pay the bills, was constantly bashed by the _Bugle_, and he couldn't tell anyone about his biggest secret in life.

This, it could work with. And work with it, it did. But then Peter had spurned it; thrown it off, scornful and spiteful towards it as opposed to the rest of the world. It had lived with the hatred of humanity enough that it was more proud of these emotions than upset that Peter was feeling them towards it. But Eddie… Poor Eddie Brock hated Peter, and thus it coaxed his hatred onwards. It had gotten what it needed from Peter; the power behind that boy was now its own. And it shared that power with Brock, just like it had always done. It gave Brock that power, and Brock gave it all the rage it would need. He never wanted to cast it aside as callously as others had; and good for him, too, as he would have died if he'd made the attempt. There was a downside to absorbing power of any kind; once you had been injected with it, it couldn't leave your system. Worse than any drug, it would take you over, consume you, and make you entirely dependant. This was fine for it; its hosts rarely wanted to abandon it. Some had done so, and some had died, though the boy who was Spider-Man had enough power to survive. Somehow.

But now its host was dead; it would have worried about finding a new host that would accept it, but it had felt something during Brock's death, something so amazingly wonderful. The scent of it, the taste of it… it was intoxicating, and it brought the creature here, into the vents of the hospital, so that it could watch. Brock had felt slightly betrayed in his last moments; how could it not protect him against the girl's fingers as she'd slammed his head into the ground? But Brock could not understand the absolutely enthralling feelings that surrounded his killer. How could it harm her, this young girl who was so far past hatred and rage that it was surprised she hadn't shaken the world to its roots yet? It couldn't possibly; it _wanted _her. It _needed _her.

_Shade. _The name had been in her thoughts. It watched her below, lying on the hospital bed, fast asleep, her wounds bandaged and her face deceptively peaceful. Even dreaming, it could taste those dark emotions, found itself desperate to drink all of them in. Oh, this girl was far past anger and rage; she was far, far worse.

She was depressed.

She had so much hatred for the world that there was no way to contain it, unless she turned it inwards. The girl genuinely, truly, and absolutely despised herself. She loathed everything she was, wanted to tear herself apart. Oh, there was enough anger to turn it outwards as well; she hated everything else, too. But there was blame settled in her heart, everlasting guilt. _Father left because of me, didn't even fight for me. Mother hates me. It's my fault they broke up. It's my fault my brother died. It's my own fault that my life sucks. It's my fault that everyone in the world hates me. If I was just better. If I was stronger. If I was smarter. Braver. Faster. Kinder. More honest. _

_ If I was only whole. _

It was a good ten feet above her and already shivering with anticipation. It could see into her dreams, full of blood and violence, where the shadows themselves sprang to life and lurched forwards to murder all that stood in their way, as she ran and tried to save everyone. But she failed, every time. The shadows were not after her; only everyone she loved. They did not harm her; they just kept her from saving everyone else, no matter her attempt, until she ended up curled in a corner, rocking back and forth and breaking down, even in sleep.

It dropped from the ceiling, creeping down the wall. It reached out for her; it would have to play this carefully, so very carefully. It couldn't handle it if she rejected it; it _needed _her, just as it knew she needed it, even if she didn't.

_If I was only stronger, _her thoughts had screamed. _If I can only do what needs to be done. If I was faster. Better. _

_I can give you that, _it whispered, touching her subconscious with cold, feathery fingers. _I can give you all you need to become great. Whatever your definition of greatness, I can give it to you. You can be more powerful than you'd ever dreamed, girl, I will give you the world. _

It touched her at last, her skin cold as she shivered, her teeth clenched and eyes shut tight against the nightmare. Slowly, carefully, it began to spread, taking her over, the black creature transforming into the thin, perfect fabric it had been for Brock; the black suit of Spider-Man and of Venom.

And now the black suit of Shade. The darkness weaved itself together into stitching and fabric around her, and though she tossed and turned, fighting invisible enemies, she did not wake.

As it spread across her eyes, which opened sightlessly for only the briefest of moments, it attached itself to her mind. It caressed her thoughts and murmured quietly there. All would be well, so long as she trusted it. It would always take care of her.

For a moment, it knew she could feel its presence. He caught sight of her in the dream, shivering and hiding as the shadows destroyed everyone around her, slaying her friends and allies as she covered her ears, trying to block out the screaming. She saw it standing there, another shadow in the darkness, but one that was promising her power, one that promised her strength. She looked to it, her soft grey eyes staring at it hopelessly, desperate.

"Please," She asked in a quiet voice. "Help me."


	2. Chapter 2

Shade woke the next morning, shaking off her dreams and uncertain about the accuracy of everything that had happened the day before. She was pretty sure that she'd killed someone, but not positive, which was never a great place to be.

She sat up slowly, rubbing her head. There was a prickle on the back of her neck; she got that old feeling that she was being watched. She had this feeling often, and was almost always right.

But, when she turned around, she found only the wall. She frowned, trying to shake it off, but unconsciously keeping tabs on the feeling, in case it held some importance later in her life.

She quickly tested everything; nothing seemed to be broken. She was bandaged around her ribs and her legs felt like they'd been reduced to jelly; it took her almost half an hour to get out of bed, use the restroom, and return. She sat down on the end of the bed, pulling up her chart and frowning at it. Apparently, there'd been a nasty wound on her head but no concussion. She was bruised up pretty badly almost everywhere, her ankle, elbow and both wrists had been sprained- bad sprains in her ankle and elbow, not so bad in her wrists. There were little nicks and bruises everywhere, but the creature had taken the worst of the damage. She set the chart back on the end of the bed and curled up under the covers again, wishing for some painkillers to take the edge off the screaming in her legs, and a book to pass the time.

She got neither. Instead, as she turned her head upwards towards the ceiling, she got a face full of red and blue.

She gasped softly and backed up, knocking her head against the wall as she did so. She swore loudly, then glared up at the costumed figure. He was hanging upside down from a web, masked eyes studying her intensely but themselves unreadable. Shade's hands clawed at her sides, clutching the blankets tightly as she got ready to unleash the mother of all screams. They hadn't exactly left things on good terms, and she had no doubt that this man could kill her without much thought.

Some hidden, whispering instinct had her looking for all of his weak points; where he'd been hit the hardest the day before. But she couldn't remember much; she'd been focused mostly on the big bad with the ugly tongue.

But the Spider-Man sighed, flipped down to the floor across from her bed, and said, "Relax."

"Sure," she answered, rolling her eyes and building up a good lungful of air. She could shriek like nobody's business, reserved personality or no.

He chuckled. "Ok, I wouldn't listen to that either," he admitted. He looked at her; there was an emotion that could almost be described as concern about him, but she couldn't really tell underneath the mask. Still, his general body posture seemed to indicate as much. "Are you all right?" He asked.

"Peachy," She answered tersely. "What do you want?"

He might've frowned. "Nothing. I just wanted to see if you were ok. You looked pretty beat up yesterday."

"You didn't look so hot yourself," she answered testily, though he'd looked a lot better than her.

"A bit better than Mr. Brock, I hope," he answered, almost ruefully.

"Who now?"

It was the wrong thing to say. The man's hands clenched in fists at his sides, and he had to force them open before he could talk. "I guess it makes sense that you don't know his name; the man you murdered. Being new here and all."

"How do you know that?" She asked, eyes narrowing, ignoring the 'murder' comment. She'd killed a man, true, but she was no murderer. That 'man' had been threatening the school; she had done what needed to be done.

Spider-Man shrugged; the movement was strangely graceful, fluid. "I've done my homework. You just transferred to that high school; basically, you're new to New York."

She swallowed; she didn't like strangers knowing a lot about her. "Yeah, well," she looked away. "Arizona wasn't my thing," she said flippantly. "And yeah, I'm new. I recognized you well enough though; the infamous Spider-Man, swinging in on his little web, trying to save the day."

"Succeeding, most times," he said coolly. "When someone doesn't try and take my job from me and, oh, yeah, kill someone in the act."

Shade snorted. "You know, you should be grateful. I saved your life and made your job like, a million times easier. I mean, really, where's your style gotten you in life? Is locking these guys up really working out? Because it seems to me that they just break out a week later."

He might have smiled ruefully, as his posture suggested, but Shade still wasn't certain. It was frustrating, trying to read through his mask. "It… has its drawbacks," he admitted. "But it's better than the alternative."

Shade folded her arms over her chest. "Not from where I stand. A person can only play defense for so long; eventually, one of these guys is gonna get in a good blow, and that's it. Squashed bug on the side of the road; dead Spidey on a windshield."

"That's a lovely image," he noted. "And not the first time the analogy's been used. I think I should point out that spiders aren't bugs, though."

"Arachnids, I know." Shade rolled her eyes. "But they're big, they're creepy, they have way too many legs and they're downright ugly. Not to mention the fact that they bite; as far as I'm concerned, they're bugs like any others."

He chuckled a little at that, but the sound was still slightly hollow. "Look. I think we got off on the wrong foot here; you're new. You don't know how this place works." His weight shifted; he looked somehow battle-ready, though he was in no way tense. It was just something about the way he held himself; as though he was ready to launch himself at her, tear her to little shreds. "I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. But if something like this ever happens again… well, in case you haven't noticed, I make it my job to take out the bad guys."

_Bad guy. He thinks __**I'm **__a bad guy. _Shade almost screamed. But she held it together, speaking through her teeth. "Yeah, well, sometimes vigilantes really get on my nerves."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. My dad was ex-FBI; he used to get seriously pissed at people like you. It was bound to rub off eventually." As best she could in the bed, she prepared her own battle stance; hands clawed, teeth bared slightly, eyes narrowed and muscles tense, coiled and ready to spring. "But I'm willing to give _you _the benefit of the doubt."

He laughed at that; his first real laugh of the day. "All right. A truce, then." He extended a hand. "I'm Spider-Man, as I'm sure you've noticed."

"Shade, as I'm sure you've looked up," she replied, shaking it. His grip was a little bit too tight; unnecessarily so. But she ignored that; in his eyes, she was a murderer. It wasn't something he was going to forgive lightly.

But even if he thought that about her, there had to be something else behind that. "Who was that creepy dude, anyway? Brock?"

He stiffened, then sighed. "Yeah. Eddie Brock."

"Friend of yours or something?"

"Not really."

"Then why were you so freaky about it?"

"Hey, we just called it a truce, didn't we? You think this is really the right conversation to be having at this moment?"

"Guess not." She shrugged and settled back onto her pillows. "But what else is there? I'm hardly going to tell you everything about myself, and you're wearing a mask; undoubtedly you like your privacy."

"Fair point. We're still not talking about Brock." He hesitated. "Though if you see that suit-the black thing that got into the sewers yesterday- you let me know, ok? I've no idea where it went and, if I'm honest, it's freaking me out."

"Will do," She answered flippantly. They fell silent for a moment.

"So. Arizona." Spider-Man pulled up a chair. "Sounds exciting."

"Not really."

"Oh, come on. Even the name sounds exotic; _Arizona. _Ariz-on-a. _Arizona!"_

He was trying to be friendly, so Shade stifled the urge to smack him. "Yeah, well, everywhere is exotic to the person who hasn't been there. NYC isn't exactly the wonder of the world that people make it out to be; it's just dirty, polluted, and smelly. I'm sure you've noticed."

He snickered. "And populated by freaks, don't forget."

"That too." She found herself smiling back; it was more reserved than his. He was a bit more trusting, more willing to make jokes. It was a coping mechanism, she realized. The more uncomfortable the situation, the more outrageous the joke. She'd seen clips of his fighting on TV; vague memories that seemed to back up this theory.

But her coping mechanisms were far different, in that she had none. At least, none she was aware of; she just dealt with it however she dealt with it. Shit happened, and she pushed through it. Did what she had to do.

Suddenly, he flinched. "Uh-oh. Gotta get lost." He jumped up to the ceiling just as the nurse entered; Shade looked up to him, and he put a finger to where his lips would be under the mask. He crawled along the wall and out the window; it looked rather odd, and very much like a spider's movements. He was strangely inhuman, this Spider-Man. It wasn't anything obvious; it was the fluidity of his movements, the way his fingers sprawled as he climbed upside-down, his easy, laid-back grace.

Shade tried to push this thought from her mind as a few police men entered with the nurse; sighing inwardly, she put on her best 'innocent' face and prepared herself for the thousands of questions sure to come.

* * *

Her mother didn't come to the hospital. Shade was expected to find a ride home, which really didn't help her mood.

She'd been there for three days before she was released. In that time, she'd been questioned, re-questioned, and questioned again, by fifty different cops. They seemed very unwilling to believe that any kind of person other than some sick sociopath or suicidal maniac would do the things she had done to stop someone they knew nothing about. There was talk about pressing charges, until Shade 'accidentally' let slip that her dad was ex-FBI, and that he'd tried to train her frequently. Things were a little more relaxed after that, and finally, she was left alone.

Spider-Man didn't come back, and none of the students came to visit her. She might be famous for her actions, but she'd been pretty brutal to that Brock guy, particularly for someone who had no quarrel with the man. She begged to differ on that point, but let it go. No one had said anything directly to her face yet, so there was no point in getting angry about it just now.

Her mother, of course, had just bitched about how she wasn't home yet, and why the hell hadn't she gotten her those cigarettes she'd asked for. It took Shade quite a while to explain what had happened and, where a normal parent would have asked, "oh, sweetheart! Are you ok?" her mother had just bitched some more, this time about how her father should never have taught her that dangerous stuff, and how she had a death wish, and how if she ever did that again she was a dead woman, etc. etc. Shade held the phone away from her ear for a full five minutes and her mother never even noticed.

And now, her elbow and ankle patched up and her skin looking like crap with all of the purple-black bruises, ugly scratches and scuff marks, and other things, she waited at the bus stop, getting some looks from strangers. They made a point of avoiding her; she looked dangerous, in all honesty. She ignored them all, taking a window seat when the bus finally pulled up and plopping down there, feeling exhausted, her pain meds wearing off and her mood spiraling downwards, faster and faster as the day went on. By the time she reached the closest stop to her house, she felt downright miserable, and almost took the head off of a random college student who accidentally tripped over her.

She walked the extra block home, feeling sick by the time she got there. She didn't say hello to her mother, who returned the favor and continued watching her television program as opposed to greeting her daughter. That was just fine with Shade; any greeting would have been followed with the inevitable list of questions; why didn't you do this, is this done, is that done, yadda yadda yadda.

Even for someone in her condition, Shade was not doing well by the time she finally flopped down on her bed. She felt shaky and cold, and her stomach twisted uneasily. There was a lingering pressure building up behind her head, and that prickle on the back of her neck told her that she was still being watched. She shivered and curled up into a ball, too cold to even reach for the covers.

And then something strange happened.

She woke up somewhere else.

She found herself standing on a rooftop's edge, looking down at the city below. She was at the very tip of a skyscraper, perched flawlessly. The wind was whipping at her fiercely, but she could barely feel it. She was wearing something that was keeping her from feeling the cold; she reached up to her face, where a mask covered her head. Slowly, carefully, she pulled it off.

It was solidly black; her fingers trembled as her hair started to blow into her face, lashing against her cheeks, twisting and writhing in the wind. She studied the mask; it was very similar to something else she'd seen before; the black creature, whatever it had been called.

She started to shake; the mask shivered under her touch. Solid black, with white web-lines surrounding it…

She looked down to the rest of herself, feeling her chest tighten in fear and painful expectation. She was wearing solidly black, the white web-lines spanning across her entire body. An enormous silver-white spider decorated her torso; she gasped and backed away, further and further, trying desperately to breathe and somehow failing.

_What is this? _Her thoughts raged. _What is happening to me? _

And then she fell, over the edge, having backed away just a bit too far.

It was so easy it was ridiculous; a matter of reflex. As she fell, her hand whipped out; a strand of thick webbing shot out from the suit and attached to the skyscraper's edge, slowing her fall but swinging her towards it. Immediately, without any conscious effort or thought, she shot out another, and another, swinging on them easily, traveling from building to building with the utmost of ease.

She had to actually think when she wanted to stop, her head spinning and feeling like she was going to throw up, though it didn't seem quite like motion sickness. She threw herself outwards, abandoning the webbing, flipped in the air, and landed feet-first on one of the buildings. She expected to slip down and have to stop herself with one of the webs-not a thing she'd expected to think in her life time- but she ended up sticking to the wall, her feet staying perfectly positioned on the glass.

Carefully, cautiously, she looked into her reflection.

It was bad; she was wearing a black suit that was very similar to Spider-Man's, and to the black creature's. She shivered; more like the creature's, if she was honest. She slowly put the mask back on, and it molded around her face so that, though she didn't have the enormous tongue, she did have an ugly, smiling mouth filled with ragged, pointed teeth. They looked sharper than the other creature's had, and her hands were clawed, sharper than the other's had been as well.

She studied the reflection for a long time, trying to calm her racing heart. _What is happening to me? _The question circled around her mind painfully, driving her crazy. _What is happening to me? _

She felt dizzy, yet somehow… right. Like this was a good thing. There was a power surging in her that had nothing to do with the newfound grace and speed, the webbing that shot out of her wrists or the strength she knew was building in her muscles. It was a power that was somehow ancient, old and very, very clever. It whispered across the backlash of time and fed its strength into her.

She barely noticed the blue and red streak in the window until it was almost on top of her; she whirled around just in time to see a pair of feet slam into her stomach.

She gasped, the air rushing out of her as she started to topple towards the ground. She tried to stop her fall, but something else got there first, slamming into her yet again and throwing her against the building, pinning her there, keeping her from moving.

"So," Spider-Man said darkly, "Found another host already, huh?"

A hidden instinct warned her to be quiet, but Shade had never really obeyed any rule; not even her own. "What are you talking about?" She demanded.

He took in the sound of her voice and her general body shape, then sneered, "So a girl this time, huh? Some random person, crossing the street? Trying to go home, maybe? Who is it?" His hand tightened into a fist, raised and ready to strike.

Shade felt panic rise in her; panic and, to her surprise, anger. All trace of her former lethargy, her pain from her earlier wounds, or even panic about what she was becoming vanished in an instant. Something bubbled up in her throat, and she screamed, "Get _off _of me!"

She lashed out, bringing a clawed hand to rake it across his face. He jumped back last-second, dodging away from her as she brought her other hand towards him, similarly clawed. It managed to slash through his costume, drawing blood in four lines across his chest.

"Just leave me _alone!_" She screamed at him, kicking out at him and launching away. She felt fury shaking her to her core, the age-old instinct to run being suppressed by her anger. In the battle between fight or flight, she'd long ago stopped fleeing; because you never stopped running once you started.

She landed one building over, crouched perfectly. Her muscles responded so well to her thoughts, fluid and perfect, each movement strangely lithe and almost… inhuman. It felt good; a surge of power propelling each movement, as though she'd never tire again. Her injuries were forgotten, dismissed easily, like an unending adrenaline rush.

Spider-Man looked to her, watching carefully as he perched a single building away. Shade fought the old idea of running- she was very good at it, after all- and instead threw herself towards him, faking to the right and slamming into him with all her weight. The two of them started toppling towards the ground, throwing blows as they went. But this wasn't like it had been with that other creature; where she had thought she would probably die. No, this was far different. They both knew they could stop themselves, and they both knew they had to keep the other from doing so.

"Not so high-and-mighty now, are you?" she demanded as he gained the upper hand, ready to throw her onto the concrete. "When it's life or death, you've got to kill, don't you?"

She slashed at his face; he ducked, but not in time. Blood trickled down his cheek. "Listen to me!" He cried, ignoring both his new injury and her statement. "Whatever the suit is saying, it's a lie! It'll do anything to keep you; it'll never let you go! You have to get rid of it! Please, if you can hear me, let me help you!"

The suit? What, the suit was _alive_? She tried to shake it off, but the idea lodged itself in the back of her mind.

But then the words began spilling out of her mouth beyond her control; like someone else had just gotten into the driver's seat, the captain's chair. "You're just saying that because it knows who you are! You don't want anyone to have it because it's too dangerous for _you!_"

"Please," he begged, throwing off the words. "What do you want? Whatever you want, just tell me, just let her _go!_"

And then Shade blacked out again.

* * *

She knew Spider-Man as an enemy now, and it was pleased. That was why it had taken her to a place it knew Spider-Man frequently haunted; so that he would attack her, so that she would see him as a threat. It had no quarrels with the boy, but if she was to be the most powerful thing in the city, then he had to die. It was that simple.

Its objective completed, it had allowed her to retreat to unconsciousness, and taken control of her. Silently, not saying another word, it dealt with Spider-Man, but it knew it was a fight it couldn't win alone. It left the web-slinging 'hero' to fall to his death, though undoubtedly he would survive. Then, it had run away, back to Shade's home, back to where it was safe for her.

And now she lay on her bed in silence, knowing little about the world around her. The suit remained on her, allowing her thoughts to rest. It should have played this more cautiously, but the anger that was inside her was too strong to resist; it had driven her to fury against Spider-Man, given her one more person to hate.

It hadn't yet told her everything about her new nemesis. It would, soon, when it revealed itself in entirety to her. But not yet; let her sleep. Let her deal with what had happened.

As she slept, it watched her dreams. And they were filled with power.

* * *

Shade sat in front of her computer with a dark expression, a pencil, and a notepad. She absentmindedly chewed on the eraser as she worked, and occasionally jotted down a note in quick, untidy handwriting. The black suit felt loose and comfortable under her normal clothing, but its constant presence still made her uneasy. But she was even more so when it was off, packed tightly away in one of the suitcases she'd gotten when her dad planned that trip to Rio. Before he tore up her mother's and her ticket, went by himself, and didn't come back.

Shade scratched the back of her neck with the eraser, studying the text on the screen with an increasing headache. She'd woken up thinking she might have killed someone for the second time in a week, and immediately crossed to the computer, where she'd searched for 'black suited Spider-Man'. The search had given her a lot of information; mostly old newspaper articles that had been posted online. Following that, she found most of her Intel on the _Bugle_'s web page; article after article on Spider-Man and the villains he'd fought, with the reoccurring theme that he was, perhaps, a villain himself.

At first, the 'black-suited Spider-Man' thing had led her to pictures of the man himself, dressed in a black suit very similar to the one she wore now. Unlike hers, his was not clawed so viciously, nor did it have that grinning mouth. In fact, it looked near identical to the one he currently wore, save the coloring.

Then she'd found the word 'Venom': _"the creature that has been terrifying the city isn't Spider-Man at all, but a strange counterpart…" _A picture accompanied the article of Spider-Man and the black suited freak that Shade had killed a few days prior.

At this point, she had to take a break while her mother yelled at her to go to school; at which point Shade was forced to yell back that it was Saturday. Her mother immediately responded with an order that she 'get a life' and 'find some friends'. Shade sighed, told her that she'd been in an accident that involved _falling off a building _and wasn't really up to that sort of thing right now, then returned to her work as her mother ranted about how she'd been released from the hospital and was thus fine.

Once she'd known what she was looking for, Shade had searched for any articles relating to this 'Venom' character. That had proved of some use, but it wasn't until she searched it properly, outside of the _Bugle_'s site- which she was doing now- that things got interesting.

Shade studied the words carefully. Venom had really been Edward Brock, a once-healthy, once-sane student who'd worked hard, gotten good grades, had some friends, and even gone to Shade's school, a fact which sent chills down her spine. _(Why didn't anyone tell me this shit __**before **__I transferred? _She thought angrily.) But then Brock had found the old black suit of Spider-Man; only it wasn't really a suit. It was some kind of alien symbiote, and it amplified all the worst in Brock, all of his hatred and aggression. He had turned that hatred to Spider-Man, and began making the masked web-head's life a living hell. He invaded places at random, and Spider-Man would follow, striving to save people as Venom tried to kill them, mocking him all the while, taunting him with some big secret that was never revealed; Spider-Man's true identity.

Shade continued looking, her heart racing as she rubbed the black fabric against her arm. It seemed to tighten there, the symbiote -or whatever it was- unwilling to release her, to even entertain the idea. She swallowed; Spider-Man had acted like the suit was alive the night before. Now she knew why.

She tried to distract herself from that, learning more about Brock and what had happened to him; always coming to the conclusion that he had been killed by an ordinary little girl who got away with barely a scratch, that the symbiote was still at large. She returned to the _Bugle_'s site and found a running discussion going on underneath the article, where people were commenting on what had happened to Brock and, more frequently, about the suit. One such comment caught her eye: from a certain Peter Parker.

_My name is Peter Parker; I've been in the same school with Eddie since preschool. We were practically brothers; we were always best friends, did everything together, and shared a lot of our classes. When he found the suit, none of us knew about it; not until it was too late. But you could see it; he'd get angry about the little things. He seemed stronger a lot of the time, but he also seemed weaker; like all of his constant fighting was taking a drain on him. I remember seeing him one day and almost calling the hospital. I remember thinking that he looked like death itself. Seeing my best friend- my __**brother- **__like that was awful; something I never want to see again, and wouldn't wish on my worst enemies. In the end, it wasn't Shade who killed Eddie; it was the suit. He would have died without that thing, and yet it was killing him with each breath. If anyone has information about it, I hope you'll have the courage to do the right thing and report it; if it attached to you, get help. Please. For the sake of your friends, your family, yourself. I've seen what that thing can do, and even if it made Eddie very powerful, it also killed him, drained him of every bit of light in the world, tore him down and made him into something so different that, when he died, he was no longer even Eddie Brock; he was pure hatred. _

Below that was a link to a website; . Shade clicked it, and the suit felt a little tighter. It was subtle, but Shade didn't want to try and take it off, for fear it would not let go. The site was a simple thing, with phone numbers of scientists and emergency medical doctors with experience with things like the alien suit; Shade wondered where a person could get experience with things like that, but she shook it off. There were pages and pages on its harmful effects. It seemed the public was in an uproar, wondering where this thing had gone to, if it would attach itself to them.

But they needn't have worried, Shade thought glumly. Her bad luck had drawn it straight to her before it could even consider anyone else.

She sighed, turned the computer off, set down her notepad and went to her bed. Carefully, she stripped off her outer clothes, then considered the suit, looking at it in the mirror.

"Will you hear me out?" She asked it, wondering if it even understood her. "Please?" She pleaded quietly.

She stared at it in silence for so long she wondered if she was just going crazy, and if this was just some random prank that someone was playing on her, a very elaborate scheme to get a few laughs from some stupid high school boys. But then it happened; the suit began to melt.

Slowly, steadily, it dropped into a pool of black in front of her; Shade swallowed uneasily, stepping away from it, but decided not to run. It could stop her if she did. She quickly changed back into her clothes, feeling better for doing so. The symbiote reared itself into vaguely her height, slimy, black and wet-looking, web-like tentacles lashing about as it formed into a humanoid figure that looked eerily like Shade had while wearing it.

"Ok," she said, clearing her throat and fighting bile that was rising in the back of her throat. "So I've been wearing an alien for the past eight hours or so. Great to know."

The figure stayed silent, watching her with masked eyes. Or did it even have eyes behind that mask? Was it only a suit? Of course it was. That's what they called it, after all; the suit. But most suits didn't really stand up and walk.

"Nothing?" She demanded, her voice cracking a little as she tried to fight the hysteria, to keep her composure. "You have _nothing _to say?"

The suit extended a clawed hand, palm up, inviting her to take it. Shade hesitated then, muttering, "I must be crazy," under her breath, she took it. Immediately, Shade said, "What do you want me to say?"

It was her voice, but not her words. As though the creature was speaking through her; it hadn't moved, but the words had come through Shade's lips, like it was hijacking her vocal cords. She dropped the hand and stumbled back, gasping and blubbering for a moment, choking. The symbiote tilted its head, watching her as she hit the wall and slid downwards, curling up into a ball there, trying to keep from losing her mind.

"Ok, that is creepy as _hell,_" Shade said, swallowing hard, as though trying to push back the symbiote's words. She shivered for a moment, trying to act brave but finding it nigh impossible. Each time she'd almost have it together, but then she'd look up at the symbiote and start panicking again.

Slowly, steadily, keeping her eyes off of it, she managed to stand again. She flicked her eyes to it, flinched, but pushed through it, staring the creature in the mask-eyes.

"I want to know…" She whispered, her mouth too dry to speak clearly, then swallowed again. _Snap out of it, _she scolded herself. _This is not the time to show weakness. _

"Why me?" She asked, looking it in the eyes as sternly as she could manage. "Why are you… with me? Is it because I killed Brock?"

It extended its hand again, serenely, a peaceful gesture that made Shade shiver violently all the same. Still, she took it. Immediately, the words that were not her own bubbled through her lips, out of her throat. "I was introduced to you when you killed Brock. But that is not why I chose you."

Shade fought the urge to vomit as it released her hand and its grip on her speech. She did, however, gag a few times. It watched silently as she forced herself to stand, then extended its hand again. She looked at it ruefully, but took the offered appendage.

"I chose you because of that," it said with her voice.

"Because of what?" She asked. It was a little easier this time, but not much.

"Because of your willingness to push through adversity," it said coolly, using her vocal cords but not bothering to put any tone or inflection behind the words. "Because you try and try again; you do not give up, despite the things in your past."

Shade started to pull her hand away before it was finished talking; she ripped her hand away quickly, shaking her head. "You're lying to me." She snapped, giving it her hand without pause this time, looking for its response to her accusation.

"I am not," it said tonelessly.

"Don't give me that bullcrap," She growled. "I know when someone is _lying _to me, even if they're giant, slimy aliens, got it? Why me?"

She thrust her hand towards the symbiote; it regarded her silently for a moment, then took it. "_That," _there was only the slightest bit of emphasis on the word, "Is why. You are angry."

She glared. "Of course I am. There's a lot to be angry about."

"I chose you as my host because of your anger." It informed her. "You hate all things in this world, and yourself most of all."

She looked away, replying darkly, "There's a lot to hate, too."

"You wish to be stronger, faster, smarter. You wish to be powerful, to keep that which you love close to you, keep it from leaving, keep it from dying. To save all you hold dear. I am offering you this; the power to do all you have ever wanted to. To be anything you ever wished to be."

It released her voice; it had said quite a bit there, and reminded her of her old sickening feeling about the whole ordeal. But still she persisted, and found it was much easier to ignore now. "In exchange for what?" She demanded, jabbing a finger at the computer. "Those articles said that you take a lot out of your hosts. There were eyewitness accounts from people who saw what you did to Brock, said that you broke him down, made certain there was nothing in him but anger and hatred, until he was no longer himself."

"Power always comes at a cost. But Parker has other reasons for not wanting me to have another host."

Shade frowned; she hadn't really mentioned names, but that wasn't what worried her most. "What do you mean?"

"I believe you know."

She glared. "Speak English, will ya?"

"You will learn," It answered. "But I will not harm you. Your anger is all I need. Your fury, your desire for revenge… it can make you great. I can make you great."

"And I should trust alien slimeball that gave its last host a creepy tongue."

"A feature I left out on your costume, if you recall."

She laughed quietly at that. "Ah, hell. If I can get along with one mutated bug, why not another?" She rolled her eyes, then pressed her fingers to her temples. "This is insane."

"It is as sane as you wish it to be."

"Nice deflection," she scowled. "You're good at that. So I'm going to ask this once; and I want an honest answer from you, or so help me you're going to be so much goop in the road." She took a deep breath. "If I do not allow you to take me as a host, if I stop this in its tracks before it goes any further…" she was cut off as it touched her hand gently.

"You will live," it whispered. "And if I must, I will leave."

She didn't believe that, but it didn't matter anyway. "That wasn't what I was asking." She said. It looked at her curiously. "Will you take on a new host?"

"Yes."

She sighed deeply. There had been no hesitation that time. "And it really will just be some random person you meet on the street, won't it? Someone who's got a few anger issues and all that." She shook her head, as though clearing away an unpleasant thought, then braced herself, stretching out and, every muscle tensed, said through clenched teeth, "All right! What do you need to do?"

It went motionless for a moment. Then, touching her shoulder, it asked, "Your decision has been made?"

"Uh, no shit, Sherlock." She rolled her eyes. "Come on." she held out a hand. "Endless power, limitless possibilities… let's do this!" She forced enthusiasm into her voice, but it couldn't have fooled a five-year-old. Which meant it definitely would have fooled her mother; she hid a laugh, knowing she'd break into hysterics if she so much as snickered.

The symbiote appeared confused. "You… want me?" It asked, almost tentative.

"What? Don't want _me_ any more?" Shade asked, lifting her eyebrows. "Come on, I don't have all day. What do you need me to do?"

That did it; the symbiote edged towards her carefully. "Hold still," it said with her voice, then started to dissolve. The hand holding hers melted into a puddle of goo, which began to creep up her arm. She grit her teeth against the girly scream that was building in her chest; one of those that was normally reserved for when you saw a spider in the shower. The symbiote pulled itself up over her arm, spreading across her torso, the blackness creeping up over her. And then it reached her face, and, no longer able to bear it, she screwed her eyes shut tightly.

She felt something piercing through her mind, into her memories, sending them all flooding back. Her mother, screaming, having another one of her fits, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a cigarette in the other, blood on her knuckles where she'd broken the window. Her father, walking out the door at three o'clock in the morning, off on the trip that Shade had been excited about for months, not knowing-and perhaps not caring- that she was watching him leave her life for good, that she had seen him tear up her ticket, leaving nothing behind for her; no money, no letter, not even a goodbye. Her four-year-old brother, playing with a bouncy ball in front of the house while she read in the driveway, not noticing until it was too late that he'd run out into the street. The helpless feeling as she threw aside the book (which she later burned) and threw herself forwards, just seconds away from pushing him to safety when the car struck. Her mother, sobbing hysterically.

Her father, not bothering to come to the funeral.

And Shade herself, unable to feel anything about it for so long that she feared something inside her was broken, unfixable. The memory was patched over, the rough edges soothed, the holes filled with blackness.

New memories-memories not of things that were, but things that would be- filled her mind. Her and the suit, standing triumphant over the city. Her mother, healed and whole again, completely sober. Her father, back home and holding her in his arms, proud of all she'd done, proud of her at last. Her brother, unable to be saved, but the incident never to be repeated again. Shade, the hero of millions, fixed in her entirety, with the suit there to give her all she wanted.

The suit had its own thoughts, of course. It was rather curious about all that was happening, with all that this girl thought and felt. It had expected her to ask a very different question than the one she had; it had, in fact, expected her to ask if she would regret accepting the suit into her life. But then it had asked about whether it would find another host; and then it recognized her thoughts, understood her feelings.

The girl truly hated herself, taking this thing that she believed would torture her onto her own head to ensure it wouldn't happen to someone else, someone better than her. She was ready to break, trying to fight it as best she could, willing to lose herself, because really, what use was she?

The suit used this as it spread over her, its blackness worming its way into her very thoughts. It tried to repair her, to make her whole. It would give her whatever she wanted, as it had given many people in the past. Some wanted to live at the top, some wanted to get the girl or boy, respectively, some wanted to live their lives to the fullest… and some wanted to be heroes. Spider-Man certainly had, and Shade… Shade wanted to save everyone.

Everyone but herself.

She wasn't worth saving.

And it would give her that; it didn't have to save her. It could save everyone else, give her exactly what she wanted, even if she didn't realize it _was _what she wanted. It could give her the power to do that.

Ah, power. It had seen power evolve so much over the years. Power could be many things; power over life and death, power over armies, power over a heart. More recently, it had seen the power of the super-heroes and villains, and it had shifted its focus towards them. It went where the power was, and went where the hate lead it. It could have so much power, with just this little girl as its guide…

The two creatures-human and symbiote- slowly began to bind together, their thoughts meshing into one. Not separate anymore, each tightly bound to the other, the suit to her and her to the suit. Where there were two, now there was one.

_We._

The word echoed with two voices in their minds, two voices that meshed so well together they may as well be one. _We. _It repeated. _We. We. We. We. _

It chanted in their head, over and over again. _We. We. We. _

_We will be unstoppable, _they thought, feeling dizzy with the power._ We will be __**invincible**__. _


	3. Chapter 3

Shade wasn't sure why she was bothering to go to school. It wasn't as though there'd be any useful classes there. There wasn't exactly 'fighting crime 101' in the curriculum.

But she went anyway and, for once, found her history class almost exciting. Mostly because of the symbiote; it gave a fresh perspective on things, scoffing at certain things in the book, telling how it really happened. Shade knew from the suit's memories that Brock had been told a few of these facts, but had pushed it aside, not really interested. Shade, however, lapped it up greedily. History took on a whole new turn when you saw how certain dictators were helped along the way with a certain black suit- disguised, back then, as whatever clothes there were in the era. Mythology took on new meanings. Many times Shade had to fight laughter as the suit kept her apprised of some of the more humiliating aspects of history; things that were never printed in books.

That wasn't, however, the only thing of interest that happened in the class. Shade caught sight of Peter Parker, and a smile crept up her face. She had nothing against the guy, really; in fact, they could probably be allies at some point. But she had a feeling he'd really cramp her style.

She debated what to do with the suit. There were many possibilities; she could taunt him with the suit, keep him from knowing who it had taken as a host. That seemed to be worrying him quite a lot and, after all, he had hit her. And he would never stop trying to take the suit from her; at least, it was unlikely.

Or, she could tell him it was her, could let him know that she was aware of his little 'secret'. Have him sweat that out for a bit. Shade fought a cruel giggle at that; ok, so she _didn't _like him. He'd called her a murderer. Said she'd killed a man in cold blood.

When the bell rang, she decided it best to keep it quiet; for now. She brushed past him as they walked out, hiding a smile. Well, Shade could keep it quiet. Her masked counterpart, however, was going to have a field day with this one.

* * *

_The Shadow, _Shade thought.

_Too obvious, _the suit answered. Shade snorted.

_Hey, I don't see you coming up with any great ideas here, _she mentally growled at it.

_I came up with Venom, _it pointed out quietly. It would have frowned, if it could. _Sort of, _it added.

_You know, for all of your alien powers, humans are still a lot more creative._

_ Whatever you say, "Shadow". _

Shade scowled; the suit seemed to have taken a bit of her sarcasm into its speech, and it was annoying her. She was used to being the obnoxious one, not the other way around. _Ok, _she thought back, _Venom 2.0._

The suit didn't bother replying; they both knew that it was tacky and stupid to even bother with that name.

She sighed and scanned the skyline. _Where is he?_

The suit remained calm. _He will be here soon. This is one of the places he normally checks. _

They waited for a while longer, bouncing ideas for her knew superhero-name during that time, until a flash of red and blue caught her eye. She perked up, seeing Spider-Man streaking across the skyline.

_Showtime, _she thought, dropping down off the building. With a quick upwards flick of the wrist, she started to web her way towards him.

He didn't notice her until she was right next to him, swinging in perfect tempo with him. He looked at her, obviously startled; the suit had told her that his spider sense didn't work around it.

"Hey, Spidey!" She said perkily. She laughed, then swung off to the side, throwing herself upwards in the air, feet-first, then landing on the building with both feet and one hand. She whirled in that position as Spider-Man landed behind her. She turned to face him and grinned under her mask. She saw him readying himself for battle, but she stood gracefully and held up her hands.

"Slow down there, Petey." She said. That made him freeze; his hands tightened in fists at his sides. "You're going to do something you'll regret," she said meaningfully. She could imagine his scowl.

"What do you want, Venom?"

She rolled her eyes. "Seriously, is that name just going to haunt me forever now? It's not Venom any more, stupid."

"Then what is it?"

"Hmm. Good question. Dunno yet." She shrugged. "Ah well, such is life."

He huffed out an exasperated sigh. "The point still stands. What do you _want?"_

"You know, that's a good question," She answered, taking a step to the side. He went a step in the opposite direction, and they continued moving, slowly and carefully, barely realizing that they were circling each other. "I don't exactly know yet. I mean, I just got handed all this power on a black, gooey platter, and I have no idea what to do with it. Maybe I could be a badass crime fighter; kinda like you. Only, without all of the stupid rules."

She could tell that phrase had hit home; something in his rigid stance told her as much, the way he froze for the briefest of seconds. She could almost read the thoughts passing through his mind; _could she be… no. No, that's impossible. _

It was just the most fleeting of suspicions; gut instinct, with only the faintest, paper-thin shred of proof to suggest he was right. But it was so quick in passing that Shade doubted it was even a proper, conscious thought; just a flitting memory.

"So what? Can't have me around in your territory? This is _your _city to save? Is that it?" He moved so inhumanly, nimble and quick, a few steps closer to her with each circle they made around each other.

"Oh, please. Not everything is about you, Parker," she said darkly. "I'm here to call a truce. You and me, we don't have to fight each other. In fact, one day, maybe we can work together; who knows? We both want the city safe. We both know that there's a lot of big bads out there who need to be stopped. So we don't need to spend time fighting each other." She extended a hand. "I'm not saying we have to be friends. Just that we don't need to be enemies."

He looked at her, and when he spoke, his tone was incredulous. "Are you serious?"

"Of course."

"But you're… I mean, you know who I am! You know my name, and you're wearing that _thing! _You can't _possibly _be… I mean, that thing won't let you be _rational _about _anything!" _

She scoffed. "Really? I seem to be doing fine."

"That's the thing; it makes you think you're in control. But then you lose yourself." He was back to pleading. "Please. Let it go. I'll help you get rid of it, I swear, we'll take it to one of Reed's labs, we'll get it off you for good!"

"Yeah, see, that's not gonna happen." Her eyes narrowed. "Come on, Parker, this is a one-time offer going on here. After that, all bets are off."

"What? Then you're going to tell the world about me?" He demanded. "You want to be a hero, don't you? That tells me that you're not a completely horrible person, that you can be reasoned with, without the suit. Can't you see what telling people would do? You'd risk lives; not just mine, but my friends, my family, anyone I've ever met! My aunt for crying out loud! A little old lady! You'd risk her life for this…"

She cut him off. "I never said I'd tell anyone," she told him, slightly appalled by the suggestion. Yeah, it was fun being in on the secret and all, but she wasn't stupid. It was a dangerous secret to keep.

That pulled him up short, stopping him in his tracks. "Wait… what?"

"Of course I wouldn't tell anyone. That would be stupid." She rolled her eyes, holding her arms out imploringly. "Come on, Spidey. I'm just looking for my own little nook in the city; a headline or two if necessary. All I want is to help people. And all I'm asking is that you let me."

He looked at her warily. "And if I don't?"

"I'm not gonna spill the beans. Everyone else will be safe. You, on the other hand, I might rip to shreds." She said the words so flippantly that Spider-Man had to do a double take, uncertain that he'd heard right. "You would have made yourself a threat and thus my enemy. But, like I said. We don't have to be that." She extended a hand. "I'm not without honor, Pete."

He looked at her hand for a long time, then shook his head, backed away, and crossed his arms over his chest. "You will be." He said sadly. "And in a month from now, two months, a year, whatever… You're not going to be you anymore. Whoever you are… you won't exist. Whatever honor you had will be gone. So no. I can't accept. Even though that means you will, eventually, tell everyone. I can't do it. I won't."

Her hands stretched into claws, curling around her palm. "If that's what you want." She said coolly. She turned away. "Next time we meet, it won't be pleasant; for either of us, I'm guessing. I'd hope we wouldn't meet, but that would be in vain, wouldn't it?" She chuckled darkly. "Goodbye, Pete. Sorry this didn't work out."

And then she was gone, taking off into the nighttime skyline.

* * *

Peter came home, stripped off his costume, and threw on a pair of ratty pjs. All he wanted to do was collapse on the bed and pass out for twelve hours, minimal.

But, as his head hit the pillow, he did not find the peaceful, relaxing sleep he'd been hoping for, but a flood of new anxieties. Who was the girl that the suit had attached to? What would she do now? She said she wanted to help people, to be a hero, to be like him. But she wasn't above killing people to do it, and that was something he couldn't allow. Some of those 'villains' were good people; the Lizard, for one, was a prime example. Brock had been a good person, too, before…

He shivered, feeling cold, sick, and weak. He turned onto his side and stared at the floor for so long that his vision began warping the lines in the woodwork. He turned away and looked up to the ceiling instead.

Who _was _she? That was the main question. He couldn't take her at her word that she wouldn't reveal his identity, so it would be nice to have some leverage on that account. Though he didn't think he'd be able to use it- he wouldn't wish a fate like that on any enemy- but she wouldn't know that, whoever she was.

And what she'd said… _Maybe I could be a badass crime fighter; kinda like you. Only, without all of the stupid rules. _It had struck something in him, resonated with some past memory that he just couldn't quite pull up. Like having a word on the tip of his tongue, just out of his reach. He knew it was somehow important, but he couldn't quite get to it.

He heaved a sigh as a faint, fragile knock sounded at his door. "Peter?" His aunt's voice floated into the room.

"Come in," he said, sitting up straight on the bed. She entered the room, worry touching her eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear. Did I wake you?" She asked, taking in his pjs and ruffled hair.

"No, it's all right. I… I was awake."

She sat down on the edge of his bed, wearing a concerned expression. "I just wanted to see if you were all right; you seemed… troubled."

That was an understatement; Peter felt a surge of emotions boiling through him, threatening to rip him apart. "I'm ok, Aunt May. Just… had a rough day."

She smiled gently at him. "I've got some pie downstairs. There's no problem in the world that can't be made better with a piece of pie."

He lifted an eyebrow. "What about obesity?"

She smacked the back of his head lightly. "Cheeky!" He laughed, feeling slightly better all ready. "Come on. It's your favorite."

He was smiling as he walked out of the room with her. It disappeared as, the second he reached the doorway, he heard a voice, plain as day, whispering, _Yeah, Petey. We know it's your favorite. _

He whirled around, looking about wildly. The voice had been Venom's; Brock Venom's, not this new version that was now running the streets. His chest felt abruptly tight, his heart hammering.

"Peter?" Aunt May asked. "Are you all right?"

No. No he wasn't. everything in him screamed, _He's in the house. Get Aunt May out of here. Get her far away, somewhere where he can't hurt her, where she'll be safe._

But Brock was dead. It didn't make sense that he should panic. He nodded once, his throat dry. "Yeah. I'm fine," he lied; a very transparent lie, but all he currently had. She smiled at him, completely unsuspecting of the terrors he knew were lurking around the corner.

They went downstairs, and she cut off a slice of pie for him, setting it up with some whipped cream like he was a child who couldn't quite reach the counters yet. She then sat across from him as he chewed thoughtfully.

"None for you?" He asked, trying to make himself sound cheerful and failing.

She noticed, but said nothing. "Oh, no dear. I'm fine."

He nodded solemnly, unable to taste the pie; it felt thick in his mouth, like he was chewing cardboard. He knew it was just the anxiety; Aunt May never cooked anything less than a perfect meal.

He caught sight of the _Bugle _resting on a counter nearby; May lifted an eyebrow as he picked it up and glanced at the front page. "You'd think you'd have had enough of that paper," she said, "Considering the fact that you work there and all."

He smiled weakly. "Eh, I like to see my work published," He lied weakly, setting it down again. There was a picture of Venom's broken and bloody body on the front, with Spider-Man standing nearby. Though Peter had only been trying to help at the time, Jameson had made it look as though he and Shade were in cahoots, that these bloody murders were to be expected, regular occurrences.

May picked up the paper, glanced at the picture, and shivered. "Oh, I don't know… that Spider-Man sometimes just gives me the creeps. And now he's killed a man!"

Peter swallowed his pie thickly. "Actually, Aunt May, I was there. Spider-Man didn't do anything; in fact, he tried to stop the fall. It was all that new girl. Shade."

He tried to keep the distaste from the word, but found he could not. And then he was shivering; the way she was so callous about Brock's death, how she'd been so casual about it all… even if she believed it was self-defense, Peter didn't know how she could live with it. After all, when he'd killed the man who'd murdered his uncle, it had been self-defense. And he still had nightmares.

May noticed the shiver with glittering, hawkish eyes. "Is that what it is?" She asked quietly.

"What what is?" Peter question in return, looking up at her.

"The reason you're upset. Peter, you saw a horrible thing; someone died in front of you. Murdered brutally by one of your own classmates. I mean, I've always questioned the idea of living here, ever since those freaks like Spider-Man began showing up… I worry about you. It's not good for you to see these things all the time." She gently took his hand across the table. "Is that the problem?"

_Oh, May Parker, _Peter thought, _you have no idea. _

Out loud, however, he said, "Maybe… It is kind of… weird." He sighed and looked at her, almost pleadingly. "To be honest, I'm less scared for myself than I am for you."

"For me? Why would you be worried for me?"

"Because," he said slowly, "You're… I mean…" He sighed. "Aunt May, you've had heart problems in the past. I'm worried one of these things is going to push you past your limit; show up one day where you're at and, if the shock doesn't kill you… what if it does? I don't think I could live with something like that. I couldn't go on when I knew that something had killed you, and it was going unpunished…" he looked down. "I just… I want you safe."

"Oh, Peter," She said, chuckling quietly. "I may not be a spring chicken, but I am a tough old bird; I can take care of myself. You don't have to worry about me. My heart is fine. I'm _fine," _She laughed lightly. "Please don't worry about me, all right?"

"But… maybe… I don't know. Maybe you could go on a vacation or something. Get out of town for a while." He found he couldn't look at her as he said this; his eyes drifted to the window, where the blue-black sky twinkled with faint silver starlight. "I just… I have this feeling like… like I'm going to lose you." He sighed deeply. "Does that make any sense?"

May took his hand again. "It makes perfect sense," she said kindly. "I understand your worries, Peter. But I can't just drop everything and leave; and you'll need me around, won't you? And we don't have the money to…"

"What if we did?" Peter's voice was suddenly urgent; he took May's hand in both of his and held it tightly, as though afraid she would shatter into a thousand pieces if he dared let go. "What if we had the money to send you away for a while; so that you could be safe. Maybe… Maybe just long enough for this 'symbiote' thing to be found. Maybe until it's gone off the streets."

_Maybe until my secret identity is revealed, _he found himself thinking. _Maybe you can hide until then, and have a head start when they come after you to get to me. _

"Peter…?" the teenager's intense demeanor seemed to frighten May slightly, though more for his sake than her own, it seemed.

"Would you go?" He asked, not bothering to reassure her, feeling suddenly panicked and urgent. "If I had the money, would you go?"

"Would you?" She asked in response, very pointedly, looking over her glasses, eyes glittering.

"No. I'd have to stay here. Keep working at the _Bugle. _But you could go away." She looked ready to protest, but he cut her off before she could. _"Please, _Aunt May. If not for your own sake, then for mine; I can't stand the thought of you being here, not anymore."

There was a question in May's eyes: _what's changed? _But Peter hoped she'd put it down to the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back; and one monster too many on the streets.

"I've been saving up," Peter went on. "Kept something in store, you know, for a rainy day. I should have enough to get you out of here, and to come back. I could probably get you across the country if that's what you wanted. Just…" he squeezed her hand again, his eyes a bit too wet. "Please."

Her eyes locked with his, and a moment of silent communication, in which all of his desperation that couldn't be put into words was transferred to her, passed between the two of them. Slowly, she nodded. "If that's what will make you feel better, Peter. If that's what you really want, then I'll go."

He heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"But the second something's wrong, you're going to call me, understood? And I'll be back here so fast it'll make your head spin, or my name isn't May Parker."

Peter smiled ruefully. "Thank you, Aunt May," He said, pressing her hand to his cheek, then standing and kissing her on the top of the head. "When do you want to go?"

"So eager to get me away!" she chuckled. "I'm not going anywhere tonight, Peter. And it'll take me a while to pack, so… well, we'll see. I'll go soon, though. I promise." She must have seen the look of concern pass his features, because she hastily tacked on the last sentence to reassure him. He nodded slowly.

"All right." He kissed the top of her head again, then headed up the stairs. "I love you."

"I love you too, Peter," she answered. "We'll talk about this in the morning, all right?"

He nodded, then went to his room. One worry down, a million to go. But, this being one of his main ones, he allowed himself to relax. He was asleep before he hit the bed.

* * *

Shade pulled off her mask, feeling both triumphant and somehow very sad at the same time. She was powerful, she'd made herself known to Spider-Man (She didn't care about the papers; Spidey was where the information could spread) and had even been the better person in offering a truce. But he'd rejected her; and that, in itself, seemed to make the whole day worthless.

"Shade Marie Carson! You get your ass out here _**now!**_"

She flinched. Most kids dreaded the 'parent-just-used-your-full-name-you-are-so-going-to-get-it' days. But for her, those days were every day. And right now, it was just annoying.

She sighed, pulled on a robe to cover the suit, and started out the door. Her mother was standing there, a glass of something foul-smelling in her hand, the stench of alcohol rank on her breath. Shade frowned; typically, her mother skipped the glass and went straight for the bottle.

She leaned against the doorframe. "What?" She asked, trying to keep her voice as emotionless as possible.

It didn't work. "Don't use that tone with me, young lady! I want to know where you've been all day!"

"Um… school." She responded, her tone adding the words, _duh, stupid. _

"It's almost one o'clock in the morning!" her mother shrieked. "You can't have been at school _this long!_"

"I had homework. I went out to the café to do it with a friend," She lied, quickly and easily. Oh, she'd done her homework in a café-more like on the roof, but a café nonetheless- and with a friend. It wasn't her fault the friend happened to be an alien symbiote that was currently attached to her in the form of a black Spider-Man suit.

"Don't lie to me you little _bitch!" _Her mother screamed. Shade flinched as spittle flew in little flecks onto her cheek. Her breath reeked of vodka.

_Oh, great, _she wanted to say, rolling her eyes. But she didn't; mostly because she didn't get a chance. Her mother kept screaming, "And whaddya mean, _friends? _What kind of pathetic, _desperate _person would be _your_ friend_?_"

Shade would have growled something in reply, had the friend not been really freaking desperate. Her mother kept going; "Now tell me where you really were!"

"I _did," _Shade snapped. "In a café, with friends, doing homework. That's the truth. Deal with it." She rolled her eyes at last and turned away, but her mother's words stopped her.

"It was exactly this kind of behavior that drove your father away!" She screeched, like a harpy from one of the old Greek myths Shade used to read to her brother. "This is why he left us! Because you were a lying, cheating, stealing little…!"

She was cut off as Shade slammed the door behind her; her fury could still be heard in more muffled tones, so Shade threw on a CD, cranked up the volume as loud as she could, then sat in the corner of the room, holding her hands over her ears. It was childish, but at the moment, it was all she could do not to go out there and rip the woman's head off. She was literally shaking with unbridled rage; pain and fury rippled through her in never-ending waves. The suit seemed to tighten around her, a comforting embrace rather than confining. It was with her. It was by her side. She never had to be lonely again, never had to face that alone again. And, whatever she did now, it would be with her; even if she decided to go and claw that woman into shreds and burn the pieces, it would be there, helping her along. It would keep her away from the police, save her from her life, like all the other 'heroes' in the world had never bothered to do.

Shade stayed like that, curled up in a ball, the music blasting until, exhausted, she fell asleep.

* * *

**The Dream They Shared: **

_Sitting in a small room, on a little loveseat in front of a bright, flickering fireplace. Waiting for someone, apprehensive and worried, while simultaneously excited and ready to burst into tears of joy. _

_ A black shadow hovers on the edge of perception; it speaks in an old voice, a voice known from long ago. The voice of friend and enemy; Edward Brock Jr. It whispers things that vanish from memory, yet remain forever. _

_ Standing, walking over to the flames. They call out, stronger, more passionate whispers than the shadows. Reaching out, ready to touch the flames. Begging. _

_ "Save me from the dark."_

_ Touching the flames; feeling them wrap around arms and legs, spread up the body until it is completely covered. It is light; cool and beautiful light, not destructive. Yet._

_ And then it hits; the pain. The flames suddenly become hungry, devouring all in their path. Screaming, slapping at the flames. Running around, crying, the tears drying up the instant they hit the inferno. _

_ Desperation. Dropping to the ground, rolling across the floor, trying to smother the flames unsuccessfully. _

_ The voice of Edward Brock Jr. laughs from inside the flickering shades. _

_ "You wanted to be saved from the darkness?" It asks, its words mocking and cruel. "You should have been more afraid of the light."_

* * *

Web-slinging was, perhaps, the best thing that had ever happened to Peter Parker, and Shade could definitely see why as she traveled from building to building. She landed on a wall nearby and crouched there, watching the city-her new domain- with careful eyes.

She saw him then. Spider-Man. She sighed; she'd been trying to avoid him all day, but it was hard to avoid what was deliberately seeking you.

She supposed it was inevitable; she readied herself to go towards him, but something stopped her: the sound of sirens.

Both of them visibly perked up at that. Spider-Man turned his head to see where they were coming from and caught sight of Shade instead.

For a moment, the two of them froze, each taking a moment to fully comprehend the gravity of the situation. Then, at the same time, they launched themselves forwards, after the cop cars, racing against each other to get to the crime scene first.

Shade moved quickly, her muscles falling into place with ease, as though she'd been doing this her whole life. It was strange, how easy this all was, how simple the suit made it for her. And it had always been more powerful than Spider-Man, so she had no doubt she would get there first. So long as she trusted it.

They arrived at the scene at the same time, but she touched down first. Seeing this, he changed direction and threw himself towards her, knocking her over. She grunted and fell to the ground, her face smashing into the concrete as he ran forwards, perhaps thinking to deal with this before she had the chance.

"I won't let you kill anyone!" He shouted, leaping up off the ground and towards the scene; a bank full of hostages. He jumped to the floor above where the chaos was going on, clearly intent on coming in through the ceiling. Shade heard people crying inside.

She growled under her breath, taking in the situation. Spider-Man would have the advantage of stealth if he followed through with his plan. But Shade could have speed if she just walked through the front door, as her instincts were telling her to do. It could be risky, but if risky was what was needed…

She got back to her feet and strode through the front door like she owned the place. Immediately, a warning sounded off in the back of her brain; she jumped up to the ceiling as bullets ripped through the air where she'd just stood.

She laughed, catching sight of the entire room from this new vantage point. The spray of bullets followed her, but she flipped downwards, onto the shooter. He cried out; one of his buddies-there were five total in the room, and quite a few more cowering hostages- started firing on her, but she picked the first shooter up and held him in front of her, claws to his throat, using him as a shield. The firing stopped.

Good. So there was some honor among thieves.

She moved her head to the side to get a clearer look at them. One of them-smarter than the rest, perhaps- aimed his gun at one of the hostages. "Drop him! Or I'll shoot!"

She saw a few flecks of dust rain down on him from above; nothing that he would even notice, but she grinned under her mask. A second later, the man was lifted into the air by a pair of red-gloved hands. He cried out as he flew upwards and was hurled out the window, a spray of white webbing following.

Two down, three to go. Shade twisted the man in her grasp around, threw him to the side, and secured him to the wall with a quick flick of the wrist. Black web spread across him, and another flick ensured he wouldn't start jabbering. He struggled and writhed, trying to escape, but Shade was no longer paying attention.

Two of the other three had trained their weapons on her, while the third was searching the ceiling; it was shadowed by the florescent lights, so Spidey could have been anywhere.

"Don't move!" one of the men shouted. The other-again, one of the smarter ones- didn't bother talking; he just started shooting. No, not a he; she. Shade grinned and jumped up as the hostages cowered. She landed next to the two of them and hit their heads together with a painful-sounding _crack!_ They slumped to the ground, and she tossed a net of webbing over them.

The final man- dark eyes glinting behind his mask- glared at her and pointed his gun at one of the hostages. "Neither of you can get to me before I shoot!" He shouted. "So stay over there! Spider-Man, next to the other freak, _now!_"

_Freak? _Shade bit her tongue to keep herself from reacting against that. Her eyes quickly took in the situation; the other hostages were still quailing. No help there. Spider-Man looked like he was obeying orders, moving over to her side. But Shade couldn't allow that.

She aimed for the gun and shot a thick strand of webbing towards it. Her aim wasn't as great as she'd thought; she got the guy's hand and pulled it towards her, but the muzzle-which she'd been going for- was still uncovered. The gun fired a single shot, headed towards the victim.

It wasn't as though everything went in slow motion; more like Shade's heart started beating faster, her body moving much faster than the world, able to see all that was going on as it happened. She pulled the man towards her, but the bullet kept going. There was no way to web that one out in time; not from her vantage point or Spider-Man's. But then Spider-Man jumped down; in fact, he'd been falling downwards since even before the gun went off. The spider-sense; it must have warned him something was up.

He dropped down to the ground in front of the hostage…

And the bullet sunk right into his shoulder.

He cried out in agony; Shade, completely shocked and furious, dragged the man towards her, dealt with him in two swift blows to the stomach and head, then threw him aside, webbing him in place. She ran to Spider-Man's side quickly; he slumped to the side, clutching painfully at his injured shoulder.

"Spidey? Spidey, oh, shit, come on!" She tried to move aside the costume to see what the wound looked like and saw only a lot of blood. She didn't bother asking if he was ok, or promising that he would be; after all, he'd just been _shot. _

She ran a claw in a ring around his arm on the costume above where the wound was. He grasped her wrist tightly. "What the hell are you _doing?" _He demanded, his voice panicked.

"Relax," She ordered, "I'm getting this off you." She finished her job and ripped the remainder of the sleeve off, leaving him with one arm completely bare, as well as part of the shoulder. She tried to move aside the blood, but found it impossible.

She whirled to the surrounding once-hostages. "Does anyone have any water?" They all looked at her, a little dazed and confused, and she groaned in frustration. Spotting a water bottle lying on the floor, she caught it with a small web and dragged it towards her. She didn't bother with the cap, instead slicing the top off with clawed fingers. Carefully, her hands shaking slightly, she poured it over the wound.

Spider-Man screamed; it seemed to have been building in his throat for a long time. Shade swallowed, trying not to freak out. She wasn't a doctor, and she wasn't really good with injuries. She liked breaking things, not fixing them; and that included people. She barely knew how to put on a band aid for crying out loud!

"Just calm down," she ordered with as much authority as she could. He glared up at her; she couldn't see the gesture, but she could feel the hatred emanating from his face.

"Why don't you just go?" He demanded. "You aren't my friend and I'm definitely not yours."

She pushed gently on his shoulder and he howled. "Don't complain," she snapped, pulling him up with a little more vigor than strictly necessary. There was no exit wound in the back of his shoulder; she groaned.

"Dammit!" She snapped, then set him down again. Shooting him a sympathetic look (and it was probably a good idea he couldn't see it) she told him. "All right. This is gonna hurt like hell. Sorry."

"What kind of pep talk is that?" He demanded, just before she sunk her claws directly into the wound. He started screaming even louder, thrashing about. The hostages-the few that were left, as most had already left the building and into the waiting custody of the police- flinched at the noise, most of them trying not to stare, but some openly doing so. Shade rooted around in the wound, biting her lip so hard that it bled. Finally, her claws closed together on something hard and, when she started to pull it out, shiny. She yanked it out completely; more blood was rolling down his arm now, so that the wound was almost invisible, but she poured the few droplets left in the water bottle onto it, clearing it as best she could.

She tossed the bullet across the room, then placed her hands on the wound. Immediately, strands of the suit disconnected from her and flowed onto him, wrapping around his arm in a tight bandage. He shivered when the stuff touched him, but as it was better than the alternative, he said nothing; merely groaned painfully.

She stood quickly. "We've got to get you out of here. Can you do anything with your other arm?"

He nodded, though everything seemed painful to him at the moment. She frowned then, desperation kicking in, she picked him up and threw him over her shoulder. He cried out and began to protest, but she ignored him.

She ran out of the building, webbing him to her back to hold him in place, then took to the skies again, back to web-slinging. Almost halfway to their destination, Spider-Man blacked out, his body finally unable to take the stress any more.

* * *

When Peter woke again, his mask, and his shirt, was off. He felt groggy and a bit light-headed, and his arm felt like it was on fire.

He sat up slowly, and realized he was in his bed. Immediately, panic stifled all other reactions; Aunt May. That creature had brought him here; it was in the same house as Aunt May. If she'd asked one too many questions, it wouldn't have bothered trying to explain; his aunt could already be dead.

"Easy, Pete." A voice said; the voice of a monster. His eyes whipped to the source; the black-suited woman stood there, leaning against the wall across from him. "You're going to burst your stitches. You've gotta relax, all right?"

"Where is she?" he demanded. "Where's Aunt May?"

She held up her hands in surrender. "Just chill, all right? She's fine. She was working in the kitchen when I brought you in. Went to sleep an hour ago. She didn't see anything."

He rubbed his head painfully, some of the tension easing from his shoulders but not all of it. After all, she could be lying; probably was. But, then again, she had just-sort of- saved his life. Or at least helped him after he was shot. That had to count for something.

"How long was I out?" He asked, forcing himself to calm down.

"About six hours. I snatched some morphine from the nearest hospital; kept you out for a while. Also kept you from feeling my rather… ah… _inadequate _sewing capabilities."

"You… snatched morphine? You mean you _stole _it?"

He sensed from her tone that she was rolling her eyes. "Well, no shit, Sherlock. You've been _shot. _I had to do _something._"

He shook his head, trying to let that slide. He longed to look under the bandages-which where now clean white gauze- but knew better. He gestured to them. "I'm guessing this wasn't exactly obtained legally, either."

She chuckled. "Oh, that one was. I keep it in my backpack; you wouldn't _believe _how accident-prone I used to be." She jumped up and landed lightly on the foot of his bed, standing on her tip-toes before folding herself down into sitting position, legs crossed as she watched him intently. He sat up, giving her room.

"So… um… you sewed it up?" he asked.

"Yep."

"H-How?"

If he could see her grin, he had a feeling he'd be very, very frightened. "You wouldn't believe the things you can find out on the internet these days."

He nodded slowly, the movement making him feel queasy. He was already exhausted. She seemed to notice; she tilted her head to the side and gently reached forwards. He stiffed, but allowed the action as she touched the bandages, then traced her fingers down his arm, directly where it was most painful. Her fingers were surprisingly cold underneath the suit's gloves, and they left little icy trails after them.

"Here, right?" She asked, tapping one of the more painful areas gently. He nodded. She sighed, stood, and flipped off the bed, onto the wall. "I thought so. Or… the suit did. You might get an infection if we leave it like this; I'll go get the peroxide and some painkillers."

"Don't steal it this time, ok?" He asked, running his hands over his face, wishing that he had his mask to cover it up. Hell, he really wished he had a _shirt _right about now, to cover everything else. The creature in black didn't seem to notice his discomfort, and didn't really even seem to care about his lack of sufficient clothing. She'd done what she needed to do to keep him alive; there was something simple and driven about her, about the way she acted and reacted to things.

"Only from your medicine cabinet," she shot back.

"Oh." She was leaving the room, so, trying not to shout, he called a little louder, "It's in the bathroom; two doors to the…"

"I know!" She called back. Peter froze, then remembered.  
"Oh. Right," he said aloud. "The suit."

He waited there for a long time before she returned, a handful of pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other. "Only a few weak painkillers; nothing too big. Sorry; you didn't have much. No antibiotics, but I've got some at home. I'll bring them by your school tomorrow."

He frowned. "I think someone would notice…"

"Believe me. They won't."

He studied her for a moment. "You said you'll bring them by the school."

"Yeah."

"_You'll _bring them by."

"Yes…?" She gestured wildly that he should get to the point.

"Not we yet, then." He swallowed back the pills, wincing as he gently ran his fingers over the bandages. "You're not speaking in the plural."

"Should I be?"

"Brock did," he shrugged. "Maybe you've made a connection, but not fully accepted it yet. That's good. It means you've got a chance."

She snorted, jumping up to the ceiling, as though she just couldn't quite keep still. "Don't knock the suit, ok? It helped you out during the robbery, and it knew a little bit more about this stuff than I did. You owe it your life."

"A thousand times over," he admitted. "But then again, given all the times it's tried to kill me, I think we're nearing even."

She sighed. "Whatever. Just… I'll get you the meds. They'll be in your locker tomorrow morning."

"You keep antibiotics on hand?" He asked, lifting an eyebrow. "Or are you going to steal them again, and thus make yourself no better than those robbers?"

"Hey! They were robbing a big bank, holding people hostage, threatening to kill innocents. I was trying to save a life. Big difference."

"Answer the question."

"I keep them on hand. Used to get sick a lot. Something else the suit does right; gets rid of it."

There was a little bit of bitterness in her voice, like she couldn't believe he was still trying to discourage her from wearing the black suit. "Wait," he called quietly as she turned to leave. He looked down. "Thank you," he said. "For everything."

She chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. Be glad I have some rules."

And then she was gone.

But the words had triggered something; something she'd said on the night they'd first met. _"Not so high-and-mighty now, are you? When it's life or death, you've got to kill, don't you?"_

Back then, the words had triggered something in his subconscious. He knew he'd heard something like that before, from someone who played a very distinct role in past. He'd dismissed it at the time, thinking it a mere coincidence.

But now… she had this fascination with rules that she never seemed to shake. And there was one other person he knew like that, who spoke like that, who was just about the right height and shape, who spoke somehow similarly…

His eyes popped. Impossible. But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. And then he was inwardly cursing himself for not realizing it sooner; what sort of a genius was he?

The suit had already come into contact with her; it could have seen the anger she had and latched to her. It could have gone back for her while she was in the hospital. Maybe made her black out a few times, taken her body for a test drive before it let her realize that it was there, then perhaps made a more permanent bond.

"Shade," he breathed. The he laughed; a loud, barking laugh that he worried might wake his aunt. But he was too stunned to worry about it too much. "You little _bitch, _it was _you!_"

**Author's Note: I was going to end this chapter with the dream, but then it would be too short. :/ I'm sorry for the late-ish update, and I promise this story will pick up a bit more soon. **


	4. Chapter 4

A newspaper slapped onto Shade's desk, with the enormous headline: _Spider-Man Shot! New Black Suited Super Saves the Day!_

She hid a smile and looked up at the person who'd put it on her desk; Peter Parker, wearing an enormous grin and looking as much a misfit as ever.

"They're calling her Toxin," he said cheerfully.

She looked him up and down and, with as much disapproval as she could get into her voice, asked, "Sorry, who are you?"

"Peter Parker," he said, extending a hand. "And you're Shade, right?"

"Yeah," She answered, looking at the paper. If Peter wasn't there, she would be ripping it to shreds. Who the hell came up with these stupid names? Toxin? Really?

_Not much better than the ones I came up with, though, _she stifled a sigh and turned to Peter. "And why should I care about this?" She asked, ruffling the pages.

He just grinned wickedly; if there was ever a time that Shade felt scared of Peter Parker, it was then. "Oh, I don't know…" he leaned in, very close, so that his lips were right next to her ear. "_Toxin…" _

She pulled back, looking at him with shocked eyes. "_What? _You think _I'm _Toxin?" She said the words loudly enough for the whole class to hear, then started laughing uproariously. "That's hilarious, Pete!"

The rest of the classroom-not trying to spy but still not really caring if they were caught- laughed along with her. "Good one, Peter!" One called.

Peter flushed, his face turning beet red. Shade almost felt sorry for the poor guy; in all honesty, she was pretty impressed with him. It would've taken most people a lot longer than that to guess who she was. But then, there might have been a reason for that.

She believed that, even if the suit hadn't told her Parker's identity, she would have guessed it eventually. No big credit to her intelligence or anything, but it was different for her. She was new here; she hadn't known Peter all her life like the others had. She had no judgments about him already in place. And, now that she thought about it, the same went in reverse.

She rolled her eyes and leaned back on two legs of the chair, looking him up and down. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, and the rest of the class was no longer paying attention. "There're a lot of other ways to get a girl's attention, Pete," She said, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

"Come off it," He snapped. "I know it's you. What do I have to do, prove it? Beg for you to tell me?"

"Pete, it isn't me. What do I have to do to get that through your thick skull?"

He glowered, but she could see the resolve weakening in his eyes. "I will prove it, if I have to," he said in a low voice, turning away from her.

This game continued through out each of the classes they had together. Every time he was near, she would see him, watching. Waiting for her to make a mistake. Waiting for her to show her true colors.

She ignored him until lunch time, when he threw a pebble towards her head and she accidentally dodged out of the way before it struck. She caught sight of his grin; no matter what she said now, there would be no more denying it in his eyes.

She sighed, rolled her eyes, flipped him off and stalked away. She heard his laughter; she'd just proved everything he wanted to know.

A few minutes before school ended, Shade- sitting behind Peter in the classroom- tapped his shoulder. "The roof. After school."

He nodded, his eyes alight. He knew it was her. He was just hoping she'd prove it. As the bell rang, he got his bags up hurriedly, and they ended up walking up the stairs together, though they said nothing to each other until they were actually on the roof.

The two of them stood across from each other, facing each other with solemn expressions. Now that Peter had gotten what he wanted- time alone to talk to her- he didn't exactly seem sure of what to say.

So Shade said it for him; she coaxed the symbiote-currently being worn as her black t-shirt- forwards. It didn't need much persuasion; in seconds, it had spread across her entire body. Peter swallowed, looking faintly surprised that he was, indeed, right, but he gave her a hard look as the suit solidified.

"Costume change?" He asked, gesturing to the suit. It was true; it had changed since their last encounter.

"What can I say? Spiders give me the creeps." She shrugged. There was no longer any webbing on the costume, and nor was there the silver-white spider decoration. Instead, the suit was solid, pitch black. Everywhere, from her head to her toes, black as midnight, indiscernible from the shadows. Only her eyes, still in the triangular pattern that had, on Venom, had silver trails upwards, remained the same. Everything else… black. Solid black.

"It's nice," he complimented half-heartedly. "So. Toxin, huh?"

She groaned. "No. No way in hell. First order of business, I'm getting rid of that name."

He frowned. "It's not that bad."

"It's not that good, either."

"So what _is _your name, then? Because, really, I can't call you 'Shade'."

"No," she said in a growl. "You can't."

He swallowed back the sudden rush of fear, tugging at his collar and shaking it off. "So what is it?"

She shrugged. "Dunno yet. I was trying to think of a name when the _Bugle _tacked that one on me." Her mask pulled back and she scowled. "I was thinking something along the lines of 'the Dark.'"

His eyebrows lifted. That wasn't half bad, actually. "Dunno. A little confusing, maybe? I mean, what are people supposed to say? It's a bird, it's a plane, it's _the Dark._"

"Hell yah, that's badass." Shade grinned wildly.

He laughed. "Yeah, all right. First time in my life that something sounded worse inside my head than out."

She chuckled. "It's a tossup anyway. Between that and Abyss."

"Abyss, huh?" he took in her form. "Both of them work. But you'd better get it corrected soon; or you'll never get rid of 'Toxin'."

"Will do." She balanced on the edge. Again, he got that feeling that she just couldn't quite keep still. "How's the arm?" she questioned.

"Better." He shot her a look. "The antibiotics you gave me aren't hurting."

"You're welcome." She said, grinning wolfishly. She glanced out at the skyline. "I'd better get back home. Gotta few errands to run before I can make my big debut; that'll give me time for a decision, methinks."

She jumped up, ready to leap down, but he stopped her. "Wait!" He called. She turned halfway.

"What does this mean?" he asked. "I mean… we know each others' secret identities now. We… we each have the potential to seriously damage each other."

Her eyebrow raised, she turned to him entirely. "We do," she acknowledged.

"So… where do we go with that?"

"Where would you wish to go?" Her eyes were suddenly unfathomable. Peter blinked and she sighed quickly, quietly. "I tried to be allies with you once, Peter. Perhaps we can still be such. Friends know all the secrets your enemies would love to have; and therefore can be the most dangerous weapons of all. But enemies know secrets about you that your friends should never know. You should be careful when deciding which I will be to you."

And then she dropped, plunging downwards, off the roof and out to the city.

* * *

"Parker! Blast, where is that stupid kid? _Parker!_"

J. Jonah Jameson slammed his fists into his desk. His secretary, Betty, carefully filed away a piece of paper and said, very calmly, "You gave him the day off, Mr. Jameson."

"Well why the hell did I do that? Get him back in there and get him taking pictures of that… whatever that is."

"Already got it, triple J," Peter said, grinning, throwing the pictures down with a flourish. Each depicted the black strand of webbing that was stretched out in front of the _Bugle; _the intricate network that spelt out a few words.

_"I am the Dark. Call me as such."_

Jonah grumbled under his breath. "These freak shows… getting free publicity… don't know why I put up with it… New headline!" He shouted. "New super-villain has risen! The Dark comes to New York!"

Peter fought the urge to roll his eyes. He ducked out of the room swiftly, trying to hide his chuckles; so she'd chosen a name at last. Good for her.

He found her outside, waiting for him. He snapped a picture of her as she rested on the word-filled web and grinned.

"Never a bad time to get a cheap shot," he told her. "I'm Peter Parker, by the way."

"Yeah; the punk who always takes those pictures of Spider-Man," she said, dropping to the ground. There were one or two witnesses about; which was one or two too many to act as though they knew each other. "I've heard of you. I'm curious as to how you manage it."

He shrugged self-deprecatingly. "I do what I can."

"Well, you've got better things to take pictures of from now on; that headline hog's got some competition going his way." She chuckled. "Besides, a woman's touch outta spice up that rag real quick." If she could have flicked her hair, Peter suspected she would have. As she walked by him, she muttered, "Empire State, twenty minutes?"

"Deal," he breathed, and she launched herself into the air, onto the wall, and began crawling upwards. He grinned. He wouldn't be able to web-sling there as easily as she could; not with his arm the way it was. But there was more than one way to skin a cat; he took a bus as close as he could get, took the elevator as high as he could, changed clothes and climbed there with two legs and one arm. It wasn't easy and far more circuitous than normal, but it was the best he had.

He found her there, perched on the edge, curled downwards, on one knee with her hands resting on the one that was raised, and her head resting on her hands. As he got closer, she sighed; a low, painful noise.

He frowned under his mask. "You ok?"

She spat on the ground. "Fine. Smacked into a building on the way here; don't ask how."

He laughed. "That wasn't smart."

"No shit." She muttered.

"How'd you even manage that? I mean, your reflexes alone should have kept you from doing something that stupid."

"Yeah, well, I thought I saw someone I knew. I got distracted, ok?"

"All right, all right," he chuckled a little longer, then stopped at the death glare that he could feel she was giving him, even through her mask. "So what're we here for?"

She stretched out a bit, rolling her shoulders and looking downwards. "Well, given that arm of yours, I'm guessing you're not up for much. Which is where I come in." She looked to him. "I'm here to give you a deal; for the next few months, you get to rest and recuperate; there are a lot of villains out there who would have no qualms about coming after you now, when you've taken a bullet. During this time-with you out of commission- the city's going to be overrun with bad guys."

He nodded slowly; he'd been somewhat expecting this, in the back of his mind. "And you'll be there to stop them."

"It only makes sense. I mean, as far as physical therapy goes, you've got the best kind of treatment with your web-slinging and wall crawling, but until you're up for that kind of stuff, we don't want you fighting. So…" she shrugged, gesturing to herself vaguely. "I'm your girl!"

He rolled his eyes, smiling darkly. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Dark. You know how it is. You've got the symbiote; as much as I might wish to, I can never trust you."

She studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "Yeah. I thought you might say that." She pulled something out of the suit, which unwrapped from around a section near her wrist. She tossed it towards him; it was small, gold and shining as it fell into his palm.

It caught the sunlight and gleamed gold. A bullet. He had no doubt which bullet it was. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"What're you supposed to do with anything that came close to killing you?" She asked. "Use it as a reminder. Life is short. The life of a hero like us if far shorter." She shrugged, then jumped. Spider-Man scowled. It was annoying, the way she kept ending conversations like that.

He sighed, then started the long trek home.

* * *

May Parker hummed quietly to herself, feeling cheerful as she tidied the house quickly. Peter had come by to drop off his things before he went to the _Bugle _to drop off some pictures he'd taken, as well as a few other errands. He'd seemed so happy; it did her good to see the boy happy. That was probably why she'd agreed to leave, which she was going to do very soon. She'd already finished packing, and was actually quite excited about it. She was going to California, something she'd always wanted to do. And it made Peter happy, since it was a good distance between New York and the freaks that roamed the place.

She glanced at his backpack and frowned. He'd taken it off very gingerly; he'd said he'd bumped into something a while back and had a nasty bruise, but it hadn't quite seemed like that to her. Maybe it was the pack itself; it looked so large and heavy. She couldn't believe the work that these kids had; she'd complained about it often enough to Peter, and told him that there were plenty of kids who didn't have their bags stuffed as full as his. His quick reply would be that these were the same kids who always begged to borrow his pencil, or his book.

It didn't seem right, really. The boy was likely to get a back injury; something far worse than a little bruise. May lifted it up onto the table nearby and was amazed at how heavy it really was. Honestly, the boy never complained about the things he should; she huffed out a little sigh and unzipped the bag. There had to be something here she could take out to lighten the load…

A large amount of red cloth blocked her view from the rest of the bag. She frowned and pulled it out, setting it aside; perhaps it was a spare outfit for school, or his gym clothes…

She then caught sight of its entirety, and of the large, copious amounts of blood on it, the ripped sleeve…

Things clicked into place in seconds, sending her brain whirring to comprehend. Her breathing shortened, her heart began to pound and, at one point, perhaps even stopped for a second, skipping a beat.

Feeling dizzy and weak, May backed away from the object on the table. A single word suddenly began turning in her mind, a word she'd used a million times, a word that was suddenly thrown into a new light, a word that she'd never seen this way before…

_FREAK! _

* * *

Peter bounded in the door. Despite how he'd left things with the Dark and her counterpart, he felt good. They weren't enemies, not really, he could never be enemies with her, not with her the way she was. Shade was a sweet girl; it was only really the Dark that he had to keep an eye out for.

"Aunt May? Aunt May, I'm home!"

No response. Peter frowned, then started looking around for her. It was possible she hadn't heard him, so he called out again. "Aunt May?"

Again, no reply. He was starting to get worried now; maybe he'd spoken too soon when passing judgment on Shade… He searched the house quickly and, finding nothing, was about ready to rip off his civilian clothes and run out Spidey-style, bullet wound or no bullet wound, when he caught sight of the note.

It was written in Aunt May's handwriting, though a little shakier than normal. Perhaps that was just his own paranoia talking, because the note held nothing to suggest fear.

_Peter,_

_ I'm sorry; I had to go on the vacation early. I accidentally booked the tickets a few days ahead of schedule. I'll try to call you as soon as I can. _

_ Love, _

_ Aunt May._

Peter, still suspicious, considered the note for a moment, then pulled out his phone. With a few quick taps, he dialed his Aunt's number, waited a few moments, then heard her pick up.

"Hello?"

"Aunt May? It's Peter."

"Oh, Peter dear," he thought he heard her strain on the word 'dear', but then her voice was perfectly clear. "I'm so sorry about the tickets; I booked them online, and you know how I am with computers." She laughed a little. "Oh, well. Are you all right? Do you need me to come home?"

The way her voice sounded made that seem almost unappealing; Peter smiled. She must be really ready for that vacation. "No, it's fine Aunt May. You enjoy yourself. You need the break."

"All right. I'll see you soon."

"See you later, Aunt May. Have fun." He hung up the phone. It wasn't like he was home alone; he was a senior now, eighteen years old, an adult. And besides, he'd really hate to see someone come at _him _with a knife; that would be a rather hilarious sight to behold, so long as he was human. Even disabled the way he was, the guy would be sprawling before he knew what hit him.

"Your aunt really loves you," a voice said behind him. He jumped and turned around, then glared.

"Aren't you supposed to be out protecting the city?" He demanded of the black-suited figure. The Dark watched him with unfathomable mask-eyes.

"Got bored with that. Besides, I've put a lot of work into you Petey; I'm not gonna let you screw it up."

"So what? You're stalking me?"

She shrugged, a difficult thing to do in her position, as she was currently hanging upside-down. "I'm… watching. Not quite stalking yet."

He rolled his eyes. "Unbelievable." He thought over what she'd said. "And of course my aunt loves me. She's my aunt."

"Well, I dunno. My mother doesn't love me."

The casual way she said that made him start. "What? Of course she does. Why wouldn't she?"

"Lesee… There's the drinking, the drunk calls where she tells me to get a life then tells me I'm too worthless to make friends, the smoking when she knows it makes me sick, the way she blames me for my father leaving us… Need I go on?"

He swallowed painfully. "Oh. Shade, I'm so sorry I didn't…"

"Don't be sorry. It's not your fault and it never will be. But let's just say that if my mother did what your aunt just did… I'd be out on the streets right now."

"What? What did she do?"

But the Dark shook her head, flipped backwards, and out the window. Peter was left staring after her, his mind spinning.

* * *

That word was still there.

It had stalked her for two days now; even in here, the sunny California, where people were supposed to be laid-back and carefree. What a joke.

How could anyone be carefree, with that word following them, just as it was following her. It rang around in her head, over and over and over again. May Parker was plagued with images of monstrous creatures fighting each other, of a poor, innocent boy watching them all, being twisted into a monster himself…

She'd stayed in her hotel for those days, not up to going anywhere, despite all the sights she should be seeing. She didn't do much; read a book, made tea, watched a television show or two. But her mind felt blank and hollow, and that word was never far behind, never pushed away. Like a bothersome insect, it stung at her every so often, making her flinch visibly.

And her heart appeared to have vanished. In its place was a large, gaping hole. Everything she'd loved had been taken away, her strength sapped with it. She found herself staring up at the ceiling, too lethargic to do anything. She would stare at walls, gaze out the window, feel her breathing shorten then come back again at intervals.

_One person, _she found herself thinking. _Could not possibly go through all of that. Could not possibly go through all of this. _

_Why isn't he dead yet?_

_ No one in the world can go through this alone. Why isn't my nephew dead? _

_Freak._

_ Freak._

_ **FREAK!**_

* * *

Shade sat on her bed, quietly studying math. The suit, holding human form, sat beside her, watching her. Out of the blue, it touched her shoulder, and the words came bubbling from Shade's lips.

"Why do you do this?"

She jerked aside suddenly, launching across the room where, had she been wearing the suit, she would have gracefully landed on the wall. However, being her normal self, she 'gracefully' tripped over her own feet, rolled twice, and smacked her head into the wall. She unleashed a long stream of curses as she pulled herself to her feet.

"Quit _doing _that!" She screamed, shivering a little. "I'm serious, that's freaking _creepy!_"

The suit watched her with lifeless eyes. She groaned, rubbing her throat for a moment then, noticing its outstretched hand, she sighed and took it.

"Vulgarities will not help your situation. Yet you continue to do so."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"You are doing it again."

"See previous answer," She growled, picking up her book and glaring at the suit. "Now what did you want?"

"I want to know why you continue to study, knowing that it will do nothing for our eventual plans," it answered.

"I dunno. Something to do?"

"You are lying to me."

"Am not."

"You know when I am lying; consequently, I know when you are. And you are angry about something."

"I'm always angry about something."

This wasn't a lie; particularly these days. Maybe it was just because she was noticing it more, trying to observe for the changes the suit made in her behavior. So, knowing the truth of this, the suit said nothing for a moment. Then, once she'd started reading again, it touched her hand. "Was it the man you saw? The man you …"

She yanked away her arm. "Jeez, you'd think you'd learn!" She snapped, shuddering. "Stop _doing _that!"

It regarded her calmly, like a parent would a temperamental child. Then, once she'd stopped screaming and grudgingly given it her hand, it continued as though she hadn't spoken. "Believed to be your father?"

She sighed and looked away. "Yeah. A little."

"I do not believe it was him. You only caught a small glimpse; it could have been anyone."

"But that's the thing. It still could have been him."

"There was no reason to slam into a wall because of it, though."

"Shut up." She tried to shove it aside; her hand passed through the goop and she pulled it back quickly. She scowled. It was still picking up her sarcasm.

The sound of a door slamming perked her up immediately; she gripped the suit's hand, and it melted quickly into black, merging with her and spreading underneath her clothes into the Dark's suit. She made certain that it couldn't be seen beneath her normal clothing, then resumed with her schoolwork, hoping that her own door wouldn't open.

Hoping in vain, as it turned out. The door swung open, her mother standing there with hard eyes. "What are you doing?"

Shade lifted an eyebrow. "Homework. What's it look like?"

Her mother glared, like Shade was some vile insect. She held up the phone. "You've got a call."

She tossed it towards Shade, who caught it smoothly, never taking her eyes off her mother. "You have two minutes." Her mother growled, leaning in the doorframe, like she had every intention of watching Shade for all that time. Shade rolled her eyes, mouthed "_go!" _And held up the phone to her ear. Her mother frowned deeply, but moved away.

"Hello?" Shade asked, pressing the phone to her ear.

"Shade?"

It was odd, the way trivial little things could change your life forever. The sound of squealing tires, followed by the _thunk_of metal against flesh had once changed Shade's life for the worst. The sight of a black-suited figure had changed her for the better. And she had no idea how this would change her; this tinny, distant voice that sounded through the phone. It sent a strange chill down her spine. A thrill ran through her nerves, and her hands started to shake as she breathed, "D-Dad?"

"Hey," was his only answer. But it was definitely his voice; it sent everything flooding back. The joy of going to Rio, the way she'd gotten up very early because she just couldn't stand the excitement, his face when he'd torn up her ticket and left her there forever…

"How are you?" He asked civilly. As though he'd never left. As though he hadn't abandoned her here. Shade started to shake for a different reason; the suit tightened around her, feeling the intense fury that suddenly surged through her.

"How do you think I am?" She asked through gritted teeth.

His sigh sent a rush of static through the phone. "Shade… I just… I didn't mean to… hurt you."

"You're lying," Shade's voice went hard. "Believe me; I know when someone's lying to me. I learned from the best." Her voice cracked on the last word.

"Shade… Shade, I mean it. I know you're angry with me; you have every right to be. But…"

"But _what?_"

"But you know I'm proud of you, right? I mean… I saw what you did. In the papers." For a moment, fear spiked through her; did he know what she was? But then he went on, "When you killed Venom. You just… did what had to be done. And I'm very, very proud of you."

She snorted angrily, her hand clenching in fists. The suit tightened even further, spreading down to her hand, ready to suck up the energy there. "The day you're proud of me is the day I know I'm worthless," she spat into the phone. "Now quit giving me this _bullshit _and tell me the truth. Why are you calling me, now, after all this time?"

"I wanted to talk to you…"

"No! If you wanted to _talk, _you wouldn't have left me behind in the first place! I know you, dad, I _know _when you're lying, I know when _everyone _is lying! You wouldn't call me after twelve years just to say you were friggin' _proud _of me! So quit giving me the crap and say it _straight! _What do you want?"

There was a long pause on the phone; so long that Shade feared he'd hung up on her during her rant. But then he spoke; his voice was cold as ice.

"I want the suit, Dark."

A horrible, awful chill gripped her; Shade felt as though she couldn't move. "Wh-What did you say?"

"I said I want the suit."

"I… I don't know what you're talking about!" She snapped, trying to put her fear into anger, as the suit was prodding her to do.

"Please," he snorted. "Do you really think it's coincidence that Venom was released from prison two days before your first day at school? Do you really think it's just coincidence that led the suit to taking you as its host? No. We've been setting this up for years."

Shade, knowing now that there was no use denying it, pushed away her fear and demanded, "We?"

"Just give me the suit, Shade." There was none of his former lovey-dovey long-lost-father façade anymore; this was the voice of a killer. "No one has to get hurt."

The first threat had been thrown. Shade's eyes narrowed. "No one but you," She growled.

"Well, given the situation…" He drawled, a lazy tone in his words, the casual callousness of a monster. Shade saw something small and red in her vision; a tiny red dot that slowly went up to her forehead. "I'd say you're wrong about that."

Immediately, the suit spreading to her hands, Shade flipped up to the ceiling, with one arm and both legs attaching her there. She webbed the phone right next to her ear and looked around desperately. The red dot had transferred to the doorway, where her mother was coming in…

"Thanks for clearing the way," her father's voice said in her ear, just as a bullet spat out of a muffler, right into her mother's chest. The words 'what's going on in here' hovered, unsaid, on her lips as slowly, the woman toppled to the ground.

"_No!" _Shade screamed, dropping down to the ground and throwing out a web towards wherever the shooter was. But it connected with nothing; she leapt up, out of the window, climbing up the walls and onto the roof. "Damn you!" She screamed aloud, screeching into the night. "_Damn you, you son of a __**bitch!**_" She howled.

The red dot was back on her shoulder; she glared in the general direction of the shooter, her mask finally encircling her face entirely and covering her eyes, a thick darkness spreading over her face. "You won't kill me," She growled. "I'm your daughter, after all." She barked out a laugh, cruel and pained, the adrenaline in her system keeping her from thinking too much about what had just happened.

"Oh, I don't know. I didn't have much problem with my other child."

Shade felt what little blood was left in her face drain from it entirely. "Ash…?"

"It was a hit-and-run, wasn't it? The 'accident' that took your little brother?"

Shade felt dizzy. This was too much. This was all too much. She started to shake.

"I told you. We've been setting this up for a long time."

Shade swore quietly, a long stream of curses she barely realized she was saying.

"But I promise you, Shade," he said calmly, ignoring the vulgarities. "Surrender now, hand over the suit to us, and you won't be harmed. But if you do not, then you will be hunted down like the animal you are. There will be no where safe for you. We are everywhere."

Shade stayed there for a moment in silence. Then, every muscle tensed, she ripped the phone from its webbing nest, tearing it away from her mask. The suit barely had time to dissolve it, and only did so after she'd torn it away. Her voice colder than an artic wind, she hissed into the speaker.

"Well, if we're making promises, how about this one? I swear on Ash's grave, I will find you. And when I do, I will kill you. Slowly. Brutally. I will rip you apart and laugh while you scream. And then I'll find whoever this 'we' is, and I will burn them all to the ground. You say I can't hide? Well no one can hide from the Dark forever. You will pay for this. You will pay for _everything._"

She gripped the phone in her hand, crushing the metal and plastic, tightening her grip until there was nothing left but an uneven ball and some drifting pieces. She threw it away, then jumped to the skies, flipping away. Bullets tore after her, but she outran them in two minutes, leaving the killers behind.

* * *

"Peter?"

Peter sat up suddenly, woken out of his dreaming by a small, feminine voice. "Peter, it's me."

He yanked the cord on his lamp, catching sight of Shade as the light burst into the room. The suit was around her neck and body, but her head was uncovered. There were thick, fat tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Shade?" He straightened. "Shade, what's wrong?"

Her breath hitched. She looked like she would say something, but she never got the chance. Suddenly, she started sobbing hysterically, holding her arms over her chest. Peter stood up, getting out of the bed and next to her in a split second.

"Shade?" He asked desperately, his muscles tense, on high alert. He looked around, holding her shoulders, trying to find the cause of her pain. But then she wrapped her arms around him, crying into his chest. He was completely taken aback by her actions, and even more so when he found himself hugging her in return. She howled, making his shirt damp with her tears, sobbing louder and louder.

They stayed like that for a long time, then he gently lifted her off the ground, sitting on the bed, holding her in his lap. She allowed the action, allowed herself to be held there as she curled up in his arms, still crying. Peter was surprised at how light she was; despite the way her suit made her look well-muscled, hard and wiry, she seemed to weigh no more than a sack of flour.

He realized then just how small this girl was. For all of her big talk, her loud presence everywhere she went, for such a huge person in his life these days, she was just so tiny. She was short, she was skinny, she was… petite. So very, very little, with a lot of pain and anger crammed into her, her fury at the world making her stand tall, a huge presence to the world.

But in the end, she was just so small…


	5. Chapter 5

Shade woke up the next morning, her throat sore, her eyes stinging, and a gunky, after-crying feeling in her chest. She sat up and tried to cough it out, and groaned as her head screamed in protest to the noise. She was still exhausted, but she doubted she could sleep any longer. She glanced to the clock; seven in the morning.

She looked around; that wasn't her clock. This wasn't her room. It took her a few moments of concentration before that barrier unlocked, and she could see through to the memories of the day previous. Her mother was dead. Her father was a raving lunatic who had a few other raving lunatics on his side; all of whom had guns and wanted to kill her. Her brother's death hadn't been an accident. She'd gone to see Peter, needing a shoulder to cry on and a place to crash at.

She slowly got out of bed, her feet freezing on the wooden floor, feeling grubby and gross as she moved out of the room. She crossed to the door and, greeted with the smell of burning bacon, started towards the kitchen.

Peter was there, cussing out a frying pan. Shade wanted to smile, but found she didn't have the energy to do so; he caught sight of her and grinned.

"Hey, you." He said, holding up the pan, on which three strips of what once was bacon had melted. "Breakfast?"

"Sure," she answered. Then, helped along by the suit- which prodded at the little flickers of irritability in the back of her skull- she said, a little more boldly, "I think I'll make it myself, though. I kind of want to live to see tomorrow."

He shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry. My aunt usually does all the cooking."

"S'cool," she answered, raiding his fridge. "You got any peanut butter?"

"Erm… yeah." He answered, going to the cupboard and pulling out a jar. Shade took it, found a jar of jelly, a knife and two slices of bread. She slowly started to work; a long time ago, her mother had stopped cooking for her. Shade, being only five at the time, only knew how to make PB&J sandwiches, and even then only barely. So, for years, she made those whenever she was hungry. She got pretty damn sick of peanut butter and jelly after the first two years, until she finally learned how to cook other things. But she'd been through a lot with Peanut butter and Jelly, and it had been through a lot with her. So, for some reason, these days it always seemed to cheer her up.

But, when she took her first bite, she found it sticking to the roof of her mouth and not cheering her up in the slightest. Peter made his own sandwich and sat across from her as she picked at it half-heartedly.

"So… um…" he searched vainly for a way to approach the subject delicately. "What was that about last night?"

She looked up at him and blinked, unable to come up with a good answer.

"Parent troubles?" he guessed, looking a little embarrassed.

Shade snorted. "That's about the sum of it," she grumbled under her breath. The suit tugged incessantly at her subconscious until, sighing, she placed her hand on the seat next to her. It pooled over her hand, then built itself up, solidifying into the Dark's costume next to her. Peter watched the display with wide eyes, which he quickly lowered politely, so as not to stare.

The suit waited until Shade had finished her bite of sandwich before extending a hand. She sighed and took it, shooting an apologetic look to Peter.

"Why are we here?" it spoke through her. Peter looked a little confused, then revulsion covered his features as he realized what was happening. Shade almost laughed at the look on his face, like when a person is confronted with a particularly gruesome-looking insect.

"Because Peter's aunt was out of the house and we wanted to have a party," Shade answered scathingly. "And don't be rude."

"I was rude?"

"Hello!" She gestured to Peter. "Ignoring him isn't going to get you anywhere in his good books."

The suit looked to him and touched her shoulder. "That isn't a place I wish to be." It said coldly.

Peter's eyes narrowed. "Watch it, slimy. I'll be good for Shade's sake; but you I can still reduce to so much…"

"Just shut up, the pair of you," Shade snapped. The suit looked mildly admonished- as much as a suit could- and sat back on the chair. Peter considered for a moment, then said, "It has a point. I'm not trying to kick you out or anything, but why _are _you here?"

Shade shrugged, trying to be flippant but somehow failing miserably. "I just… needed somewhere to go."

"Your mom kick you out of the house or something?"

"Her father," the suit corrected, touching Shade's shoulder. Shade jerked away before it could say any more.

"Shut up," she hissed. Too late; Peter was already looking at her with concerned eyes.

"Why? What happened?" He asked, genuine worry on his features. Shade scowled, and his eyes widened. "He didn't find out, did he? I mean, about the Dark?"

Shade's eyes stung. "Of course he found out," She said bitterly. "He arranged it."

Peter looked at her, confused, but Shade pushed away from the table. She walked to the sink, rinsed off her dishes, then took the time to wash them and put them away before she turned back to him. He was watching her carefully.

She sighed and looked away, unable to look him in the eye. "You got any spare clothes? I need to get a shower and get outta here."

"School doesn't start for another hour and a half; you can make it there in two minutes if you web-sling. We can talk for a while, if you want."

"Yeah, but I don't," she said, trying to keep the venom from her words but unable to stop it. She looked down. "And I'm not going to school."

"You're not?" he looked surprised. "I mean, where else are you going to go?" he paused. "I guess you could stay here today, if you want. But I've gotta go; the school'll call aunt May if I don't go, and I don't want her worrying or anything…"

Shade rolled her eyes. "Believe me, she's not gonna care that much," she said darkly, a hint of shadow in her words. Peter looked mystified by this statement, but she said nothing further on the subject. "Look, I gotta get out of here, ok? I've gotta get away, out of New York, away from here for good."

"Wait, you mean you're leaving? Like… forever?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?" She growled. At the hurt look on his face, she softened slightly. "Sorry, Petey. But I've gotta get out of here. I'm afraid I'll have to leave saving the city in your capable hands from now on. You did it before."

"Not with a bullet in my shoulder, I didn't."

"Yeah, well, sorry about that. But there's nothing I can do to help you." She looked away, walking down the hall. "Shower's this way, right?"

She heard him sigh, but he answered, "Yeah. Towels are in the left-hand cabinet."

She nodded brusquely, though he could not see the gesture. Quickly, she went to the bathroom and was in the shower.

Peter sighed to himself, went and searched his closet quickly, finding some clothes he'd outgrown a while back that would probably fit her, then set them directly outside the bathroom before returning to the table and sitting down again, waiting for her. The suit sat across from him, watching him silently. Then, slowly, it stretched a hand towards him. Peter swallowed; it had never hijacked his vocal chords the way he'd seen it do to Shade's, so he was understandably nervous about trying such a thing.

After a moment of staring, however, he gave in. It was an uneasy feeling, surrendering your voice over to someone else; particularly if that someone was actually a some_thing, _and that something hated your guts. It spoke through Peter's lips, a gross feeling bubbling in the back of his throat, resonating deep in his chest.

"She is not herself," it said coolly, tonelessly, putting no inflection on Peter's words.

Peter swallowed, trying not to retch. "I noticed," he said caustically.

It took his hand again. "I fear her actions. There is a question she will ask when she returns. A question I am curious to know the answer to as well."

"And what would that be?" Peter asked, once control of his voice had once more been surrendered to him. It was strange, sitting down and having a civil conversation with something that had drained him of his energy, made him into a monster, and then tried to kill him multiple times.

"She does not wish me to say," it answered serenely. "But I wish for you to be aware. She has been tested and tried, pushed to her brink." It almost seem to look down as it spoke, as though it couldn't bear to meet Peter's gaze. "Things have happened that even I have not anticipated. I fear for her safety."

Peter lifted an eyebrow even before the thing removed its hand. "You're… _afraid _for her? What, you actually _care?_"

It took his hand again. "It is in my best interest to care for the health of my host. And while current events have driven her to an anger even she has never known before, there is only so much hatred the human body can handle before it snaps entirely. In such a scenario, she will be of no use to me."

"Why are you telling _me _this? And what even happened to her? What was going on last night? Her father kicked her out of the house, but there's more, right?"

The creature almost seemed to sigh, though that must surely have been an illusion. "I am telling you because I believe you can help her. It was no mistake that she came to you last night; there were other places she could have gone to, other people she could have seen. She cares for you, and you for her. I believe what she needs now is a friend; one she doesn't have to protect, so she will not fail in this duty."

"But what happened?" Peter demanded once he knew the suit was finished speaking. "I can't help her if she won't tell me what happened!"

"Well, that's simple enough," another voice joined their conversation.

Peter jumped and turned around, almost guiltily. Shade was leaning against the wall, her eyes on the ground, her hair soaking wet and Peter's clothes about two sizes too big on her. The suit stood, crossed over to her, and reached out a hand. Shade took it without hesitation; it melted onto her skin, creeping up her arm and disappearing under her shirt.

She walked over to the table, pulled the chair out, sat down, and studied Peter for a long time. Her expression was unfathomable, and after a moment, Peter started feeling highly uncomfortable under her intense gaze.

Finally, she spoke up. But the subject had changed. "I want to ask you something, Peter."

So the suit hadn't been lying. He looked her in the eye, forcing himself to stare into those grey, unfeeling depths. "Go on."

She blinked once. "If I were to give you the suit, right here and now, what would you do?"

_That _was unexpected; Peter almost jumped at the words. He blinked as well, running his eyes over her, taking in her general body language. She seemed sincere; but there was no telling what was in those eyes of hers.

He considered the question for a long moment; he could see why the symbiote would want to discuss this with him, why it would want to know what his answer would be. He half feared it would strangle her if he gave the wrong answer, and he saw her gently tugging at her collar, as though it was already tightening around her. A few days ago, it would have been obvious; he would take it and throw it into deep freeze somewhere far away, where it could never hurt anyone else again.

But now… now he knew Shade better. Beyond that, he knew the Dark better. And he knew she might just need the suit to survive; in more ways than one.

"I would give it back," he answered at last, slowly. Her eyebrows rose in surprise, but the rest of her features remained blank. "Because, by this point, I'm almost certain that you're past the point of no return. If I took it, you would probably end up dying."

She watched him closely, then prodded, "And…?"

His lip quirked upwards. Of course she knew there was more to it than that. "And… if there's anyone, anywhere in the world who has any chance of making the suit into something good… it's you."

He caught sight of her blush; it spread across her features, until her entire face was bright pink and her ears were almost red. She looked away. "Thanks," she said in a quiet voice, then cleared her throat. "Thanks for everything, Petey. I promise, I'll come back. I just… I gotta get away for a while. It's a long story." She looked him right in the eye. "But I will come back, ok? And I'll tell you _everything._"

He smiled weakly and nodded once. She nodded as well, then walked away. He didn't watch her go, but he heard her footsteps, quiet and small, then the opening and closing of the door.

And then she was gone.

* * *

Shade was good at running.

She hated it. She hated having to run. She'd run for most of her life and finally decided to stop; starting again was not high up on her list of things she wanted to do. But she was good at it; Shade could run faster than most people could ever hope to. With the enhanced strength and reflexes the suit gave her, this natural talent was sharpened to such an acute skill it was almost painful.

Shade ran now, ran as fast as she could. She'd had enough money on her- and from what she'd gotten from her quick, near-fatal trip to her house before burning it to the ground, her mother's body still inside- to buy tickets to California. It wasn't good enough.

So now she ran; she didn't stop, she dared not. She was across the country and still not safe. She kept moving, keeping an eye out for tails and other nasties. She kept her eyes on the normal-looking ones, just like her father had always said, just like he'd always trained her to do.

She saw it then; a hotel. A lonely-looking old woman stared out of the window, her gaze very blank and hollow.

_Ah, shit. I forgot about her._

_Don't be rash, _the suit chastised her, suspecting her next moves. _Think about what this would mean._

It would mean a lot if she went in there right now and spoke to the woman. It would mean that her father might have a bead on her; they had cameras in hotels, right? At least at the front desk. She had to assume that her enemy was powerful enough to have access to any CCTV, any internet connection, any communications and picture systems whatsoever. _Always overestimate your opponent. Never, ever underestimate them; it will be your downfall._

When her father had told her that, she'd thought nothing of it. When she was a bit older and reconsidered, she thought, _what the hell does the FBI teach? _

Now she thought, _FBI my ass. Lying all this time… I hope he sees me. Hell, I hope he catches up to me; then I can peel his face off and __**burn **__it. _

For once, the suit did not respond positively to her anger; rather, it hovered at the edge of her perception, not wishing to become involved. Shade thought she felt a trickle of fear run through the creature, and made a mental note to investigate it later; she had a feeling the symbiote knew more than it was telling her.

She pushed through the hotel doors, knowing that she was being irrational, but also that she had no choice. She'd never forgive herself if she didn't do this now.

She kept her head down, avoiding the cameras as best she could, knowing she was probably showing them a big fat profile picture, or a nice view of her whole face. Oh well; she'd run over to Nevada next, get out of California entirely. Maybe go to Vegas; it was easy to get lost there. Easy to get a quick buck, too, if you had a spider-sense to tell you when you were about to get lucky, or unlucky, as the case may be.

She went to the elevator and pressed a button; she knew all the details of May's vacation; she'd hacked the travel site May went to in order to book the tickets. Another skill her father had given her, of course. But she'd felt it necessary to keep tabs on the old lady, just as she had kept tabs on Peter.

The thought of Peter Parker sent an unexpected flare of pain in her chest. She missed the guy already. The two of them were far from close, but they were on their way to being friends. And that was a hell of a lot closer than Shade had been with anyone after Ash died. Maybe it was because Peter could look out for himself; she didn't have to worry about him all the time.

She reached her floor and went to the room where she knew May was. Not bothering to think of a better excuse, she knocked and called, "Room service!"

After a few moments, May Parker partially opened the door. There was a smile on her face but a strange look in her eye, a sad, lonely stare. The look that Shade had seen on her own face many times. "I didn't order anything…" She said slowly, then noticed Shade's empty hands.

"I know. I lied. I'm here about your nephew, Peter."

Fear. Pure, untouched fear. It spiked through May's eyes and sent her body completely rigid. "Peter…?" She asked slowly. "What about him?"

"I know you've found out who he is." Shade answered. "And I don't have time to baby this around, so…" She flicked her hand upwards. There would be no cameras here; she could do as she needed to. A strand of webbing flew up towards the ceiling. Shade pulled herself onto it, hanging upside down. May looked at her in shock and horror.

"My name is the Dark; you may know me as Toxin." Shade said slowly. "And I am the reason you discovered Peter's secret. I put his ruined suit in his backpack. I knew you would see it." May stared at her in terror, but Shade fell to the ground, the webbing dissolving as she held up her hands in surrender. "I'm here to say one thing. I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry for what I've done. But your nephew is a good person, no matter what happened to him in the past. Believe me, I know." She turned away. "I know you don't have a reason to trust me. But I had to say that, before…" her gaze turned inward.

Now that Shade was here, she didn't know what else to say. So she started to walk away. "I have to go."

"Wait!" May called; Shade turned around to face her. "Would you… would you like to talk? Maybe have some tea…?" The old lady asked, looking strangely desperate. As though she couldn't possibly allow her to leave; the one person who was at least attempting to make sense of things. Shade smiled ruefully.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I've got no time."

May studied her for a long moment, her intense gaze keeping Shade rooted to the spot. The desperation faded from her eyes after a moment, replaced with a knowing half-smile. Finally, she said musingly, "You have that look to you, young lady."

That interested her. "Look?"

"The look my nephew's had for about three years now. A look I've never been able to put a name to. You're hiding something; something bigger than just who you are." May held herself tall; there was a quiet dignity about her, something that Peter had noticed in the past but Shade had skipped over when she had his memories. "It will do you good to tell it, before it kills you."

Wasn't that the truth. Shade looked at her for a long time, unable to comprehend this person, this strange woman with a super-human nephew, this odd creature who was just a bit _too _human.

And then, barely realizing she was doing it, Shade spoke. "My father is trying to kill me. He just killed my mother, and he killed my baby brother when he was just little. All for a damned suit that's given me abilities and an anger I can't control. I don't know what he wants from me." Tears burned in her eyes. Why was she spilling every secret she'd ever had? Why couldn't she stop? "And I'm scared. For the first time in a very, very long time, I am genuinely terrified." She laughed derisively. "But that doesn't matter," her face turned solemn. "Because when I find him, I'm going to kill him myself."

Through this, May looked at her with concern, but she didn't even blink. There was no surprise or shock in her eyes; perhaps Shade just looked like a girl out for blood. "I'm going to tell you something I once told my nephew; revenge is like a poison," May said seriously. "Even a drug. Before long, it can take you over. Consume you." She looked down. "But perhaps, to live… it can be necessary." Her eyes were older than she was as she said that, but she stood as tall as a queen, head held high, posture regal and graceful rather than stiff.

Shade smiled quietly. "And I'll give you some advice, too. Be with the ones you love, no matter their secrets, no matter their flaws. You don't know how much time you have left."

And then she was gone.

* * *

Peter worried.

It had been a few days since Shade had left. He had to admit, he was concerned. She didn't have anyone looking out for her any more.

Beyond that, the things the suit had said, about Shade being close to her breaking point… the symbiote had a connection with her that ran deep. If anyone knew when that breaking point was coming, it was the alien creature that was attached to Shade's brainwaves. And, though Parker didn't trust it any further than he could throw it, he did trust that it would look out for its host.

He continually checked his phone, waiting for a text that would never come. He'd gotten into trouble for it twice already, and once it had been taken away. That whole class period, he'd sat clenching the desk, his knuckles turning white as he worried even more. What if Shade had texted him? What if she needed help? What if she was in trouble?

But, when he'd gotten the phone back, there was nothing. It was insane; he tucked the phone in his pocket and hoped vainly for the vibration that would tell him what was going on.

It finally came; he quickly opened the text, but it wasn't from Shade. It was from his Aunt; the letters were slightly scrambled and hard to decipher, as she'd only recently gotten the hang of texting, but the general message was clear; she was home, and wanted to meet him in the park after school. Peter sent a quick reply that he'd be there, wondering why she'd cut her vacation short like that.

So he had another thing to worry about as the class drudged on. School went on more slowly than ever, and by the time it was over, he hopped onto the bus excitedly, having learned absolutely nothing and having a lot of homework to catch up on consequently.

He got off at the closest stop to the park and saw Aunt May there; she had a strange look in her eyes as she smiled at him. He gave her a quick hug, grinning wildly.

"Aunt May, you're back!" He said happily. "I missed you," he admitted.

"Peter, you're the one who told me to leave," She pointed out. He shrugged helplessly.

"Doesn't mean I can't miss you," he answered. She smiled weakly and sat down on a nearby bench, pulling the large handbag that was resting there onto her lap. He sat down next to her, noticing the serious look on her face. "What's wrong?" he asked.

May looked at the bag for a long moment. "Peter… I need to talk to you."

There was something in her tone that sent chills through him; a graveness in her voice, her eyes somber. "What about?" He asked.

For a moment, she didn't reply. Then slowly, very, very slowly, she opened the bag. Peter frowned, wondering what was happening…

Then he saw it. An old, familiar red-and-blue suit, folded neatly on top of the other contents in the bag, its sleeve missing and the Spider insignia covered in blood.

He swallowed, his throat and mouth suddenly going dry. She held the bag open for a moment, then closed it, snapping the little clasp shut. She didn't turn to face him.

"You've been favoring you left arm these days," She said slowly. "You've always gone missing at odd times. You come home battered and bruised. You're always exhausted." There were faint tears glimmering in his aunt's eyes, brimming the edge and threatening to overflow.

Peter scrambled for an excuse, some kind of lie he could tell her; that he'd been at a costume party, that the blood wasn't real… but one look at her face told him that wasn't going to cut it any more.

"Just tell me one thing, Peter," His aunt continued, still staring at the bag, still not facing him. "Is it true?"

He swallowed thickly. As if life wasn't complicated enough.

"Is it true?" His aunt pressed. "Are you…" She choked on the word, but forced it out in a whisper, "Spider-Man?"

She knew it was true. It was obvious from the look on her face that she'd figured it out, that perhaps she'd really always known, somewhere deep inside. But she wanted to hear it from _him._

Peter swallowed, tears welling up in his own eyes. "Yeah," he whispered in a dry voice, nodding. "Yeah, it's true."

Aunt May's eyes closed, and she rubbed her eyes with one hand. She let out a long, slow, heavy sigh. "Yes… Yes, I was afraid of that."

For a long time, the two of them were silent. Peter, desperate to know what was happening in her mind, decided she must be thinking the worst. "I'm sorry… I mean… I'm sorry I never told you. You must think I'm… some kind of freak." He looked away.

Aunt May's head whipped up, and she took his chin in her bony hand, turning his face towards her. "Don't. Don't you _ever _say that _my nephew _is a freak." Her eyes were glassy, shining just a bit too much. One of the tears had finally spilled and was rolling down her cheek, catching in the laugh lines there. "By all that is right and just in this world, if I'd only known… oh, Peter, you must think awful things of me, calling you those things for all those years…" Her words hitched, catching in her throat. "I never thought… I mean, I must have known, somewhere, that it was you… but how could I have suspected it? You've worked so hard, all these years, to keep it hidden from me. To protect me. And I appreciate that, Peter, but…" She smacked his arm lightly. "I could have been there for you! Don't you get that? All these times, grounding you for breaking curfew, yelling at you for being late or all these trivial things... and you could have _died _for crying out loud! You needed someone there and you wouldn't _let me!_"

Peter wrapped his arms around himself, uncertain of what to say. "Because I couldn't let you be a part of my nightmares. I didn't want to worry you, Aunt May, I wanted to keep you safe from all this."

"And when you came home, all bruised and battered? And _shot _recently, no less! Peter, we should have gotten you to the hospital or something! I could have done _something _for you! Did you really think that, all these times, I wouldn't notice the little limps, the scuff marks, the bruises? Did you really think I wouldn't worry?"

"You'd worry a lot less than if you knew the truth," he pointed out. "I mean, really, Aunt May. Knowing it now… will you ever trust me to leave the house again?" The words sent a shock through her eyes, and Peter lowered his voice, kindly, gently. "Knowing that, at every second, my life is in danger? That I could easily be killed? How could I let you live with that? With my worries, my dangers, my horrors?"

She took his face in both of her hands, looked him in the eye, and said strictly, "I am your family, Peter. That is my _job_."

He smiled weakly as she released him. The two looked away, staring out at the park and once more not facing each other.

"I guess you have a lot of questions," Peter said at last.

"As many as anyone would have," May answered. "But we'll have time for that later, I suppose. I just… wanted you to know that I know now, and that I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you."

She stood slowly. Peter hesitated for a moment before following; his eyes were misty, the ghost of Uncle Ben reeling in his mind as the all-too familiar scene replayed in his head.

_He clutched his Uncle's hand tightly, unable to see through the burning tears, unable to stop this, with all of the power he had, still unable to do __**anything**__ as his Uncle's eyes clouded, as he released his last breath, as his heart stopped and he was taken from the world forever…_

Peter watched his Aunt walk away and, a sad expression on his face, he whispered, "No. Not always."

* * *

Shade's predictions about Vegas had been right; she'd gotten herself a fat wad of cash from about three different casinos, being careful to switch games and places often so that nothing too odd would be observed. She now treated herself to a greasy burger and a long rest on the bench as she scouted out the area for a place to sleep. Hotels were out. The casino, with all of its security cameras, had been bad enough. A hotel, where she would be nice and trapped if she stayed the night, was another matter entirely.

She washed the burger back with a seriously unhealthy milkshake, then checked out a nearby tree. She grinned; that would be good.

She waited until the area was relatively clear of witnesses before she scaled the tree to its peak, watching the bustle of life below for a moment before webbing herself in place on a top branch. She nestled back, then stared up at the stars, which were beginning to appear. She'd been lucky to find a tree; Vegas was more famous for its lights and action than its wildlife. But one or two places kept them for decoration.

She stared at the sky and did what she'd promised never to do again; she reflected on the previous days, thought about her past.

A hit-and-run had killed her baby brother. Her mother was dead, and her father was a madman who wanted her symbiote. He seemed convinced that this had been set up from the beginning, but Shade just couldn't see how. Her father had been talking about things that had happened almost eleven, twelve years ago. The symbiote hadn't been on earth that long; maybe two years?

But then it hit her. _History Class. _The symbiote had been on Earth for years before that; centuries upon centuries, which it had spent guiding the human race, going towards whatever source of anger it could find and making it into something powerful enough to have its greatest dreams. It had told her, before, that something had forced it off the planet for a while-maybe fifty years- and that it had returned a few years ago to try again. It had then found Spider-Man, then Brock, and then Shade herself.

But it had always been very vague about what had forced it off-planet. Shade growled, throwing out her arm.

"All right, you. Out. Now. You have questions to answer."

The symbiote hesitated unhappily, but eventually went down her arm and, pulling itself into human form, sat across from her.

"Ok. Honesty's the best policy here, because if you lie to me, so help me, I'm handing you right over to my father." Shade gave it a dark glare; she almost thought she saw the thing shudder. "Why did you leave Earth the first time?"

It paused for a moment, then reached out and took her outstretched hand. "To Escape."

"Escape _what?" _Shade asked through her teeth.

"Them."

"Need I ask them who?"

The symbiote looked away, out to the world outside of their little tree. "Their most recent name is the Braith; Welsh for Black and White."

"The Braith," Shade said incredulously, lifting an eyebrow. "And what are they?"

"An organization that started at the beginning of time. It exists above and outside all governments, takes its root in every center of power it can find, and searches for the influence of my kind in the world."

"Wait, wait, wait. Your _kind? _There are more of you slimey cretins?"

It looked to her. "Of course," it replied deadly.

"Ugh, this is just too much," Shade pressed an area above her right eye, then paused, looking up. "Wait… you said their name meant black and white." She gulped, as though afraid of what her answer might be, "Is there… a white suit?"

The symbiote took her hand. "Don't be ridiculous." Shade exhaled in relief. "There is, however, a silver one."

"Oh, shit."

"Indeed," The suit answered in grave tones. "But you are getting ahead of yourself. I am here to discuss the Braith; that is the query you asked."

She rolled her eyes, but nodded and gestured for it to continue.

"I fled your world because the Braith had made it too dangerous for me to remain; they have long tried to manipulate who I will take as a host, and even longer have they tried to manipulate the hosts I have chosen myself. When these tactics didn't work, they resorted to violence. My last host, prior to my exit from this world, did not make it out alive.

"So I ran. I assumed that a generation or so would pass and I would be safe. That they would forget me. But I was weak; I returned to this world too quickly. Of all the species I have seen in the universe, the human race is the most capable of feeling aggression; my presence in other races has frequently been little more than a nuisance; no anger can be drawn from such subjects. But humanity has a great deal of hatred to offer; so I returned. Desperate and weak, I found Peter, a source of immeasurable power, and I took him as my host.

"But the Braith, it appears, have not given up on me yet. And no matter what you do, Shade, they will end up killing you. To remove me from your side is to sign your own death warrant; and they are not above such things. They have killed countless others over the years, over the centuries. The Braith are the ones who connected the dots; the followers of power over the years, who saw one black object after another and planned to have it for their own. They will stop at nothing until this goal is achieved; and, should any one Braith be chosen, it will follow the will of all others."

Shade's eyes narrowed; she'd barely noticed that the creature had made a near-speech using _her _vocal chords; that stuff didn't seem to matter any more. "And why have you never chosen one of them as a host? Clearly, they're power-hungry. There's enough rage in any human to be a compatible subject; why not them? Why didn't you just give up, stop fighting them, go with them instead? It doesn't make sense."

The suit almost sounded angry as it took control of her voice again. "Because it would be treason. They would not stop at me; and they would force me to fight others of my kind. They are relentless; you say they are power-hungry and you are right; theirs is the kind of hunger that can never be satisfied until galaxies have been ruined. Not even I am so desolate and depraved that I would stoop to these lowest levels of humanity."

Shade frowned. "But you've told me… some of the greatest dictators in all history have been under _your _influence. You've _created _the lowest levels of humanity; why not take it to the universal level?"

"Because we are not all about chaos and destruction," The suit answered, seeming a little annoyed. "And we know the limits; humanity does not. Besides that, fighting against one's own kind is… barbaric. Only the simplest of creatures ever do such a thing."

Shade rolled her eyes. "Thanks for that."

"Humans are simple in many ways," the symbiote pointed out.

"Whatever," Shade snapped, then turned onto her side as best she could. "Just… we'll talk more in the morning. I need some time to process this."

There was a pause then, touching her ankle, the suit said, "Your father, from what I could gather, is the head of the Braith organization. You would do well to avoid, rather than fight him."

"Not in my nature, is it?" Shade growled, not turning to face it.

The suit's inflection on her voice sounded almost sad. "It should have been."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry for the late update. **

The Dark sat, perched on a building, eating a donut. The bottom half of her mask had once more transformed into that wickedly smiling mouth with all of those ugly, jagged teeth, so that she could eat without removing the mask. Still, she felt a little odd, eating donuts and looking like she wished it was someone's head.

Her food finished, the mask closed, so that there was no indication of her mouth any more. She stood and looked around. She'd debated putting on the suit for a long time, but figured that if she was going to be caught up in a fight with these loons anyway, she might as well be prepared for it.

As Shade, she'd hit a few more casinos, then booked. Vegas wasn't cutting it any more. Ohio had seemed like a nicer, quieter place, so she'd gotten a ticket, flown there, and was now perched on a building, waiting for who-knew-what.

She was also on non-speaking terms with the symbiote; she would let it help her, but that was about it. It had shied away to the back of her mind, perfectly content with the silent treatment, as Shade would undoubtedly stick it in deep freeze if she got any angrier at it. Really, what the hell was this, not telling her everything she needed to know? She'd accepted the thing into her life willingly; why didn't it trust her with important information? Like, perhaps, maybe it should have warned her: _Oh, yeah. I'm a symbiote from space, you know that. But there's also a group of crazy gun-toting psychos who want me for themselves; oh, and your father? He's the leader of these psychos and is probably the reason for all the crap in your life. Sorry._

See, things like _that, _she needed to know. Not _Oooh, Spider-Man is really Peter Parker! Betcha didn't see that one coming, oooooooh, spoooooooky…._

She didn't give a rat's ass who Spidey really was. Her brother, however, she cared about.

Her brother. Even the suit seemed to recede from the pure, absolute loathing that swelled in her. Ash; the one reason she'd had for living. The reason she kept going, day after day, the reason she'd flushed those damned pills down the drain, the reason she hadn't bashed her mother in the head with one of her own whiskey bottles long ago. Just a little kid; he didn't know why his sister had tried to kill herself. He'd just known that it hurt him when she did, and he'd made her promise to never, ever leave him alone, ever again, to never give up, to never die. And, when he was alive, she had _reason _to live; someone had to keep her freakazoid parents off the kid.

When he died, she had even _more _reason to live; so that a part of him could live on through her. It was a job her parents certainly weren't doing right.

But her father had killed her brother. And that, Shade couldn't handle. She'd been almost all right with everything else; he could do anything he wanted to her, anything at all.

But lay one finger on baby brother and all bets were off.

The suit almost shuddered. _Shade, calm yourself, _it said quietly.

_Don't tell me what to do, _Shade screamed in her head, with more vigor and menace, more black venom than any words said aloud could ever have.

Yes, her father was going to pay for that one. The whole Braith organization was going to burn to a crisp for what he'd done; Shade had no doubt. The suit was there to give her the power she needed to do whatever she truly wanted; and she'd never wanted anything so badly in her entire life.

But, given the faint echoes of feeling emanating from the symbiote, it didn't find that idea quite so appealing.

_They will destroy us both on sight. _

_I don't care, _Shade answered malevolently.

_They will kill you, just as they killed your brother._

_ I don't care._

_ They will try and break you down, try and use you._

_ I don't care._

_ They will destroy you; rip you down, tear you up. The agony you think you feel is nothing compared to what they'll do._

_ I don't care. _

There was a long pause in the argument, then the symbiote said, _You have no friends, Shade, no backup. Even if you could fight them all, the trauma it will cause you will be… irreversible. _

Shade considered that. Then, heart harder than diamonds, she answered, _I. Don't. __**Care.**_

* * *

Peter felt very strange around his aunt for the next few days. Like he had to tiptoe around everything. More than once, he'd catch himself in the middle of lying, or thinking up a good lie, to explain where he'd been for the past half an hour, or where he was going.

And it was really freaking difficult to say, "Bye, Aunt May. I'm going to web-sling over the city for a few hours, see if there's trouble."

It was even weirder to hear her answer, "All right, Peter. Have fun. Be safe!"

There weren't a lot of things about his aunt that drove him crazy, but that was definitely one of them. How the _hell _was he supposed to 'be safe' when he was dressed up like a lunatic, wearing a suit that every ordinary thug knew to fear and most super villains wanted to pummel? It made no sense.

But he'd always reply with the same, "I will!"

What was even stranger was the way he was able to relax at home now, lapse into his 'normal' self. He supposed it was no basket of roses for Aunt May, either, so he tried to keep it toned down a bit, at least for a while. Basically, no wall-crawling on the ceiling, but he could, at least, move a bit more inhumanly. And he didn't have to let dishes and crap fall all over the place anymore; instead, he'd catch them, one way or another, leaping across the room if he had to.

But it was the little things; the easy grace, the smooth, fluidity of his movements, the way he walked in a normal, almost predatory stance… The way he was afraid to be around anyone else, even in his own home. Oh, there were a few fancy flips and casual cartwheels, the occasional bounce off the wall and landing splayed out, using one hand to support himself, but that wasn't what made him stand out entirely. It was the agility that was hardly noticeable; the quieter side, where he could just relax and act… inhuman.

What was even weirder? People showing up at his house for help with Spider-Man's problems.

He didn't suspect he'd have to worry about that for a while, but Connors did come over for a little help with his current anti-Lizard formula, once he'd learned that Aunt May was all right with it. _Technically, _Lizzy-boy didn't _know _about Spider-Man; he just knew Peter Parker, the strange kid with the science brain who sometimes helped out and seemed to disappear whenever Spider-Man was around…

Well, Peter knew that Connors had his suspicions about who he was. Connors, after all, wasn't quite an idiot. But he also wasn't stupid enough to try and confirm those suspicions; if he did, then the Lizard would know, too, and _then _where would they be?

But that wasn't the only time. About two weeks after the secret had been revealed- though perhaps not all of them, as he still had to tell her about what had _really _happened with Uncle Ben, a conversation he wasn't looking forward to- someone else showed up.

Peter came home from school to hear his aunt talking with someone in the kitchen; his spider sense was quiet, so he thought nothing of it, until he saw the costumed figure in the room.

The scene was surreal; Aunt May, the little old lady, sitting at the dining room table. Sitting across from her was the black-suited figure of the Dark; teeth-filled mouth and all, casually sipping at a cup of what looked and smelled like coffee. Peter was so startled he almost leapt to the ceiling; the two of them, however, seemed to be having quite a nice, casual conversation.

"Oh, yes," Aunt May was saying. "It is different, and quite a bit difficult. But it's as though he's happier around me, freer… oh, there you are Peter." She smiled at him. "Your friend here and I were just having some coffee. Would you like some?"

Considering it was about seven o'clock at night and if he drank coffee, he'd be up until at least one, Peter declined, the hair on his arms and back of his neck rising. The Dark barely even looked in his direction; instead, she sighed deeply, taking another quick gulp of her coffee; which, by the steam coming from it, was near-boiling temperatures.

May saw his face and, a frown starting to tug at her lips, she verified, "She _is _your friend, right?"

Peter swallowed back his surprise; the last time he'd seen Shade, _or _the Dark, she'd talked cryptically about her father kicking her out of the house, and how she needed to run away. Now she was back, and, given the lethargic, uncaring way she was moving, things hadn't gone so well.

"Yeah," he said, as flippantly as he could manage. "She's cool." He sat down at the other side of Shade, a chair away from his Aunt. "Hey, Shade."

"Pete." She nodded. Her voice sounded dry, dull, and dead. Peter tried to hide his alarm; perhaps the suit had been right about her. Perhaps she really was close to cracking.

"Shade?" Aunt May turned and looked at her in a new light. "The girl who killed Edward Brock?"

"The very same," Shade answered, offering her mug in a sarcastic toast, then chugging back the remainder of the drink with a quick gulp. "Can we go upstairs, Petey? I need to talk to you. Alone."

He nodded quickly. "Sure," he answered, then started up the stairs in the normal, human way.

But there seemed to be very little human left in Shade Marie Carson. She took the stairs more like a spider would; ergo, not at all. She started to, but when Peter wasn't moving quickly enough for her liking, she jumped to the ceiling and crawled to the room through there. Peter shot a look to his aunt, but she seemed quite used to this behavior from the girl; she barely looked up from her newspaper.

The two arrived in Peter's room, and Shade's mask receded from her face. Peter swallowed against the sudden revulsion, the bile that was rising in the back of his throat. Yes, there was very little human in Shade. Her skin was pale and sallow, her eyes sunken, all color in them washed out, very hollow. The gloves receded, too, and, in fact, the entire suit faded away into nothing more than a long black trench coat. She was wearing normal civilian clothing underneath her suit as opposed to outside them; that was a new one.

Without the suit to highlight what muscle she had, she looked thin and sickly. She looked like one of those delinquents he'd see hanging about with a bottle of booze in one hand and a cigarette in the other, but her balance was unerring, her speech not slurred, and he had no doubt that she'd never touch a cigarette; though he'd often smelt it on her clothes back at school, she didn't seem the type. And he certainly couldn't smell it now.

No, it was less of these unnatural irritants that he noticed on her, and more of the natural ones. There was ash, mud, and grime all over her face, in her hair, and over whatever skin showed on her body. Her eyes had dark circles from lack of sleep, and they were alight with the animal inside; the creature that lurked in the deep of her mind.

"The symbiote," she said, her voice like the dry whispers of autumn leaves. It startled him out of his thoughts. "It's killing me, Pete."

He looked her up and down then, sympathetically, concerned, he asked, "What can I do to help?"

She smiled very, very sadly. "Oh, Pete. You haven't changed a bit." She quickly wrapped her arms around him, took a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh, letting him go. "What I'd give to have you say the same about me."

"What I'd give to be able to," he answered quickly, worry in his eyes. "Do you need me to get you to Reed? We can try and detach it from you."

"Nah," she shook her head. "Couldn't live without it any more. And it's not really the problem; it's my damn father."

That sent a shock through him. "Your father? The one who kicked you out of the house?"

She snorted. "The one who killed my mother, my brother, and is now hunting me? Yeah, him." She shook her head as another shock ran through him, a cold feeling going through every one of his nerves. She collapsed onto the bed, but her hands kept moving, brushing at the blanket, fiddling with loose threads that weren't really there, and picking at her nails through the suit. "Ugh, I feel like crap. I'm gonna steal your shower again, k?"

"Not right now you're not," he said sternly. "You did that to me last time; took a shower and then ditched. You're not doing that, not again, not this time."

She studied him for a brief second, then fell back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. "Fine."

"Fine?"

"Fine." She shrugged, though he could barely see the gesture. "You're pissed, I get it. I totally ditched you without telling you anything. That's sorta why I'm _back."_ She huffed out a sigh. "Fact is, Petey-Boy, I need to crash at your place. I'm not going back to school; my house burned down and if I show up, things'll get suspicious. But I'm really freaking _sick _of running away all the time, so I've decided to stop." She sat up. "And this is the safest place for me to do so."

He folded his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing. "Then why didn't you do it before?"

"Because it's dangerous as all hell for you and your aunt."

Peter lifted an eyebrow. "I see. And you thought that would automatically mean we'd kick you out on the street? Shade, you need help. I'm supposed to be your friend; why wouldn't you let me help you?"

"Sucks, donnit? Your aunt was telling me the same thing about you."

"This isn't about my aunt. This is about _you._"

"Yeah, yeah." She shrugged. "But no, I left because it _was _too dangerous for you. I thought I could take them on my own. But it turns out, there's a whole bunch of gun-toting crazies who want my hide and, if this thing is to be believed"- she gestured to the suit- "Know how to fight me. So, yeah, I left you behind. I was protecting you. I've protected _everyone._"

"Isn't that why we're friends?" he asked weakly. "Because you don't _have _to protect me? Because I can protect myself?"

Again, she considered him, her eyes calculating. "You're a strange one, Petey." She stood. "I will tell you everything. Just… not now."

"When?"

"Tomorrow. After I've had a shower, some proper food, and maybe a good eight hours of sleep." She snorted. "Won't that be remarkable." She rolled her eyes, which were hollow from lack of a proper night's rest. She stood and walked away, presumably going to the shower.

He let her leave; so she was crashing here, then. He'd better let Aunt May know; he went down the stairs, jumping off the banister when he was halfway down, hoping his aunt wouldn't freak out about it too badly.

She didn't. She was still reading the newspaper, frowning. "Look at this! More calls for your arrest! I'm telling you, this J. Jonah man is a horrible person! He needs to be taught a serious lesson; I don't know why you're selling pictures to him!"

Peter shrugged as he sat across from her. "Shade's going to be taking my room tonight, ok? I'll sleep on the couch."

"Wrong," Shade said, passing by the pair of them with an armful of clothes and a towel. "Shade is taking the couch. Peter is staying in his own room, or I'm going to shove that couch down his throat. Understood?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Yes, ma'am."

She flicked the back of his head as she walked away, muttering under her breath about 'kids these days'. Peter chuckled to himself, then turned back to May, who was watching him curiously. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, he asked, "What?"

"Nothing," May answered with a half-smile. "You just… seem better around her. That's all." She looked back to the paper for a moment, then peered over her glasses. "I'm curious about her, though. After all, she did kill one of your oldest friends."

Peter looked down. "It was self-defense," he protested weakly.

Unbeknownst to either of them, Shade, though she had the shower water running in an attempt to heat it up, was listening. Her eyes somehow deadened as she clutched the edge of the door, which was propped open just the smallest fraction of an inch so that she could hear.

"The papers say otherwise," May answered.

"You just got finished saying those things were trashy and stupid."

"Not those exact words," she said flippantly. "But, beyond that, _you _said otherwise, Peter."

Shade looked down to the tiled floor, the steam starting to take over the room.

Peter sighed. "I did," he admitted.

"And what changed?"

There was a very long pause. Then, he replied, "I saw who she really was. And… if I'd been through the crap she has, just the little glimpses I've seen… I'd probably be a lot worse off than she is. I can't ignore that she's taken on some… terrible attributes, becoming what she has. But… she's still… so amazing. It's hard to describe… it's like… like she'll do anything to make sure she never lets you down, but, just by being true to her own nature, you know she never could. She'll do her best, no matter what, and… I admire her." He shrugged sheepishly and grinned. "I'm over thinking this, I guess."

"No," May answered at the same time Shade whispered the word.

But Peter was still distant. "Just… from the bottom of my heart, I wish she'd let me help her. Let someone else save her for once. But I know that'll never happen, because she's so used to saving herself. To saving everyone else."

Shade closed the door, shutting her eyes tightly. What she wouldn't give to be saved right about now.

* * *

"I'm a wreck," Shade croaked, looking into the mirror.

"You're fine," Peter lied, watching as she ran a brush through her tangled hair for the billionth time. "Shade, look at me. You're fine. You're ok. You'll _be ok._"

"Ugh." She turned away from the hopeless mess that was her hair and fell down into the chair in his bedroom. It was a Saturday, so Peter didn't have school, and the two had time to talk. The suit, standing silently in the corner, maintaining human form, was watching them both.

"So," Peter said lightly. "Are you going to tell me everything?"

She gave him the mother of all glares, then rolled her eyes. "Sure. Why not?"

She then proceeded to give him all of the gory details; starting back from when she was young, and her little brother had been hit by a car. She wasn't quite so flippant then; her voice turned very, very cold, an icy, black, chaotic darkness in her words. She told him about her father killing her mother-which she was a little angry about, but didn't really care that badly- and how she'd gone back to the house to burn it. She told him about the Braith, shooting a meaningful glance at the symbiote when she explained how it had neglected to tell her any of this. She told him about her own promises to bring down the Braith, and to kill her father.

She told him how she'd been running. How she couldn't eat or drink. She couldn't sleep. She couldn't do _anything;_ all she could do was think about what she'd do to her father once she caught up with him. Her every moment was consumed by rage and anger, enveloped in that one single desire for revenge.

And she was going to kill her own father to get it.

There was fire in her eyes as she told him this; a fire that scared Peter, in all honesty. As her story came to its end, he carefully sat next to her, gave her a quick hug, then said, "Shade… I'm so sorry. But…"

She lifted an eyebrow. "But?" She asked caustically.

"Don't you think… I mean, even the suit feels that you're pushing it too far. Trying to kill your own father… I'm afraid of what that'll do to you."

She scowled, looking away and shrugging out from under his arm, which he'd kept around her shoulder. "What else can I do?" she demanded bitterly, a hard edge to her voice that hadn't been there before she'd left.

"You could try and forgive him," he suggested. "I mean, that's pretty freaking impossible, but maybe even making a go at it will help you… even if you have to fight him in self-defense later."

She rolled her eyes. "Forgiveness ain't for everyone, Pete. Certainly not for me."

He immediately put his arm on her shoulders again, holding her closer as she fought looking at his eyes. "Hey. Of course it is. You're holding yourself back; you say the suit's killing you. You're _letting _it."

"The suit's killing me because the Braith are after it; and therefore me. For no other reason." Her eyes burned acidly. "Look, can we just drop it? I'm exhausted; I don't want to talk about my jackass father anymore, all right?"

He lowered his gaze. "All right. Fine." There was a pause. "What do you want to talk about, then?"

"Don't know. Don't care, either."

"All right. Then I'll ask a question; why are you back in New York?"

She looked to him, then carefully rested her head on his shoulder. "You don't wanna know."

"Of course I do," he answered, holding her a little tighter. He could feel her slipping away with each and every moment, feel her just getting thinner, smaller and smaller with every passing second, until she would vanish from his grip forever. His heart ached just thinking about it; Shade, though not his closest friend in the world, was definitely an ally he did not wish to lose.

"You don't," Shade responded with a very heavy sigh. "But you're not gonna shut up until I tell you, so…" she sucked in a deep breath, preparing herself. "I'm taking the fight to them."

There was a moment's silence. Confused, Peter asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Shade's voice was strangely cold as she replied, "It means that those bastards are gonna have to watch their backs." She sat up, throwing off his arm once and for all, standing and walking to the window. "What Intel I've got on them suggests that their main base is in New York. Which means I can grab one of the suckers, then beat the crap out of them until they tell me where my father is." Her voice literally dropped an octave as she added, "And then I'm going to find him."

She didn't need to say what would happen next; even if she hadn't already told him, it was so completely obvious from her tone; her father was a dead man walking.

Peter let the silence envelop the room for a solid five minutes before he spoke again. "What do you need me to do?" he asked quietly, for the second time in two days.

She whirled. Her grey eyes, usually so soft, so pained that they had to be guarded, were now alight with something piercing. Something cruel. "Stay out of my way," she answered, stretching her hand out to the symbiote. It took her hand, then swirled around her, creeping up her arm and over her entire form before devouring her features, throwing her face into darkness. She went to the window and threw it open, then stopped.

"And when it's over," she said slowly. "When it's over…"

She hesitated over the words; he heard her choke beneath the mask, saw her trembling. Then she steadied herself, not bothering to finish her statement before she threw herself out the window and started web-slinging away. Peter watched haplessly, wanting to do something, wanting to call her back, wanting to help her, to save her.

But, feeling like a coward, he simply closed the window and turned away.

* * *

Jessie felt good. He'd just gotten a nice, fat pay raise, they were inches away from their goal, and latest intelligence placed their target back in New York. Really, what more could he want? She'd practically handed herself over to them on a silver platter; unlike a majority of the United States, New York was one of those places that they had completely covered, to the point it was overrun. They had agents everywhere you looked, complete and total access to every CCTV network, control of _everything. _

Yes, their target had been watched; she'd been seen going to the house of a certain Peter Parker; the infamous Spider-Man. Oh, they'd known about him for years; ever since the symbiote had abandoned him. But they had bigger fish to fry than some little kid who wanted to play hero.

And then she'd been seen heading to the library. Why, he wasn't sure; research, perhaps? Well, the camera feed had been cut off when she'd caught sight of it, but that was nothing new. She could take out one camera, but they would know she hadn't moved. No other cameras picked up movement from her, and there were people headed towards the library now, a whole team dispatched to deal with her. It was almost too easy; Jessie frowned, upset that he hadn't been made a part of the team but knowing the necessity of the things he was doing now. He whistled to himself, turning a corner down an alleyway shortcut.

Immediately, he ran into something black and sticky; he cried out, but more of the sticky substance coated his back. He squirmed and thrashed about, but it was useless; in seconds, he was completely entangled, hopelessly trapped.

A black-suited figure with silver-white eyes dangled in front of him on another black web. She tilted her head to the side, and her mouth opened in a gaping, yellow-toothed grin, wicked and horrible.

"Hi!" She said perkily, reaching out a claw; it nicked his face, burning more than it should. He tried to scream for help, but he felt something spread through him; poison. That bitch had poisoned him.

"Nighty night!" She cackled as she faded from vision.

* * *

He woke a few times, being jostled about, a black cloth sack over his face; probably more than cloth. He shuddered to think at how close he was to the symbiote, that he was actually touching it, so close to its magnificent power…

He drifted off to sleep again.

He heard murmuring. Cursing. Saw flashes of sparks through the blackness. Drifted off again.

When he woke a final time, the sack was whipped off his head with a flourish, throwing up his hair in a gust of wind. The Dark, completely suited and looking lethal, stood before him. The sack dissolved into her suit, absorbed by the blackness as she gazed at him, somehow conveying her icy hatred through the mask.

"You are Jessie Blackfield," she said. It was not a question. "You work for the Braith."

She lashed out, a fist cracking into his ribs and throwing him backwards in the chair; it crashed to the floor, knocking the air out of him. She placed a foot on his chest, leaning down as close to his face as she could.

"You work for my father."

The dead hatred in her voice sent chills through him. This wasn't part of his job description.

_It's right there, _he couldn't help thinking, his eyes taking in every inch of the suit. He couldn't focus around that thought: _It's __**right there.**_

"Where is he?" She demanded.

He swallowed back his fear, swallowed back his desperation. "I don't know."

"Liar," her voice was quiet, but he still flinched as though she'd struck him. She placed her foot on the leg of the chair, right beside where his own foot was bound, and pressed down quickly; the chair wobbled upright, and with smooth, agile reflexes, she had the back of the chair in hand. She pulled it upright, whirling it around so that he could no longer see her. Instead, he saw an enormous screen; as big as a wall.

"Like it?" She asked. "My own personal entertainment system." She had something in her hands suddenly; she waved it about under his nose; a bowl of popcorn. She set it in his lap, slicing through the webbing that kept his hands behind his back. He was still tied around his waist, though, and his legs were attached to the chairs' legs, so he wasn't going anywhere.

He watched her suspiciously, saying nothing, not touching the salty snack in front of him. She shrugged.

"You're the one who hasn't eaten in twenty-four hours; I'd eat the popcorn. It's probably the only thing you're going to get for a long time." He could feel her eyes narrow, though he couldn't see it. "Perhaps…forever?"

He swallowed thickly, then timidly popped a kernel in his mouth, chewing slowly and almost painfully. Whatever she'd drugged him with may have put him out for twenty-four hours, but it had also made his stomach react violently against any food; he held it close but made no attempt to eat. He didn't want her to take it away, he had no doubt she'd stick to her word, but he had to wait for his stomach to settle first.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, his throat cracking and sore. She sighed, exasperated, and went behind him again, returning this time with a glass of water and a small stool. She put the former on the latter, setting them both next to him and sitting across from him.

"Humans," She grumbled. "You're way too high-maintenance."

He took a drink gratefully. He knew it wasn't poisoned; the girl wanted information, or she wouldn't have kept him alive. No, he would live, as long as he was useful. That wasn't what scared him. What scared him the most was, what happened when he didn't _want _to live? What would he give her?

He set the glass down as she studied him intently. "Better?" she asked, her voice sickly sweet.

He didn't give her the satisfaction of nodding; instead, he asked again, "What do you want from me?"

"I told you already. I want to know where my father is."

"And if I don't know?"

She snorted.

Ok, she had him there. Of course he knew. How could he not; she'd obviously chosen her target well. A man who would know all the things she wished to know, a man whose name she'd bothered to learn and thus would know quite a bit about him. He tried a different tactic. "And if I don't tell you?"

"It's in your best interests to," she said coolly. "For a number of reasons. Reason one," she whirled, throwing out a web. It caught a remote across the room and returned to her hand; she pointed it at the enormous screen. It flickered into life, immediately switching to a view that took Jessie a moment to place.

But then he understood. And his eyes widened in horror.

* * *

_ "She's there! In the alley!"_

Isaac nodded, turning to his men. "To your left," he ordered through the headset, moving with them swiftly. They were so synchronistic, so perfect in their motions, completely fluid. None of them were a second out of beat, a single motion away from the others. The perfect attack unit.

They moved flawlessly, ducking down the alley while others took to the roofs. The Dark would not escape them. Not this time.

_"She's moving south, and quickly," _the voice said through Isaac's headset, a rush of static. The movements of their quarry were being watched via cameras; not just CCTV, but the ones they'd installed themselves, all over the city. That was the beauty of it; even if someone managed to find one of the cameras and knock it out, typically it wouldn't do you much good, as there were thousands more around to take their place. Shade had been lucky earlier; the library was a weak spot, as it was hardly a security threat.

He caught sight of a fast-moving shadow breezing in front of him; he grinned to himself, the thrill of capture at hand. He was a hunter at heart, and she was the most elusive prey. He nearly licked his lips.

"We've got her, sir," he answered. He motioned quickly for his men to move ahead. They obeyed, a thrill in the air. _They had her! They had her at last! The symbiote was within their grasp, just within their reach!_

_ "You'll have her cornered up ahead; keep those men on the roof and she'll have no way out,_" The triumphant voice spoke through his headset. Isaac couldn't believe it; after all this time, chasing after her, they were almost there.

He couldn't have known; no instinct warned him. No nagging idea that this was too easy plagued him. In fact, the first time he realized something was wrong was the second they turned that alley, the second they saw that dead end.

And no Shade.

He frowned. "Sir… she's not here, sir."

_"What are you talking about? She's right in front of you, take her out, now!"_

"Sir, she isn't here!" He protested; then caught sight of something flickering in the corner of his vision. Immediately he fired on it; if Shade died, the symbiote would still live, so he had no qualms with this.

Under his rapid-gun fire, something collapsed in front of him.

_"Wha-? She just… disappeared!" _the voice hissed in his headset, shock evident in his voice.

In front of them was a simple object; a stuffed dummy, covered in a black sheet, with the silver-white words, _Guess Who? _Inscribed on the front. There was a number of wires poking out from the stuffing where Isaac had shot it; he picked it up and saw the equipment inside. She must have interfered with the cameras using this, somehow.

He frowned. "Spread out! Form a search!" Then, as a whining came through his headphones, he cried, "_Agh!" _

He dropped to the ground, onto his knees; as did many of his men. They clutched their headsets, some ripping them off and some too blindsided by the pain to think to do so. Isaac was one of those men; he clutched at his head as a high-pitched ringing sounded in his ears. When it stopped, a voice spoke, so loudly that he was forced to throw it off. It didn't make much difference; he could still hear it perfectly clearly, echoing and reverberating a thousand times over through every headset there.

It started with laughter, then, a high-pitched, sing-song mocking phrase. "I can seeeee yyooooouuuu…."

Isaac snarled. "Spread out!" he shouted; they immediately did, fanning out over the entire area. "She can't be far away."

"Oh, I don't know," Shade's voice said through the headset, still mocking, still dark with sickly sweet hatred. "After all, a wise man once told me something very important; a lesson I'll keep with me forever."

The others were looking a little unnerved; Isaac pushed one of them aside. "Ignore her! She's trying to screw with your head!"

"She's succeeding," Came the chuckled reply. "Don't you want to hear it?"

No one responded. Shakily, the men kept searching.

"She must have left something behind," Isaac said darkly, poking around in every nook and cranny. "_Something," _he hissed angrily.

"Very well, I'll tell you," Shade's voice said through the headphones. "_Always overestimate your opponent."_

A few of them exchanged nervous glances. They had heard those words before. She went on, "_Never, ever underestimate them; it will be your downfall."_

The words they had heard from their boss; the words that Shade had learned from her father. At 'downfall', Isaac angrily ripped aside a few discarded cardboard boxes. His eyes widened; he hadn't been able to tell before, with the cardboard smothering the light underneath, but this section of the street was glowing red. More than just glowing. _Flashing. _

"Oopsie," Shade said with a giggle. "Someone just found my secret collection! BOOM!" She shrieked, positively squealing with delight.

The flashing red lights started to beep. _Quickly._

"Oh, shit!" Isaac turned to run. "Fall back, fall ba-"

The last thing he ever heard in life was the sound of Shade's sick, mocking laughter.

* * *

Jessie watched, shell-shocked, as orange, flaming chaos erupted on the screen. Shade left nothing alive; the bombs had obviously been placed _everywhere. _Even on the roof; buildings shook and trembled, an enormous inferno exploding all around. The cameras were incinerated, the view switching from one to another as they strained to give the two of them sight of the carnage. Finally, they reached a point where the blast radius stopped, and the camera they were watching from was safe.

Jessie felt his heart stop, stutter, and re-start again. The blast shot straight up into the air; Shade flipped out a phone, dialing quickly. There was a pause, then she said, her voice sounding innocent and scared, "Oh, it's terrible, officer! It's so horrible! There's been… an explosion, an accident, I don't know! Please, you've got to hurry, there might have been people there! Oh, it's so awful!"

With this same pattern, she informed the officer of the location of the 'accident' then hung up, her manner stiff and cold once more. Jessie couldn't even think to try and call for help while she was on the phone, such was the horror pounding in his heart. How many men had been sent on that mission? How many more people had been caught up in that blast? How many good men and women had Shade just murdered in cold blood, laughing as they died?

But the first words he got out weren't about that; instead, he choked out, "You're… inhuman."

She turned to him. The mask receded from her face. Instead of making her look more human, however, this just made her more terrifying. Her face was pale, gaunt, tortured. Her eyes were dead in their fury.

"What was your first clue?"

"That was… _murder!" _He spluttered.

"That was _war!_" Shade shrieked back at him. "Do you see what I am now, Jessie Blackfield? Do you see what you have made me?" She was in his face suddenly, throwing him backwards. The popcorn scattered everywhere, but he couldn't bring himself to care as her knee planted itself in his chest.

"I will do _anything _to find my father, understood?" She said, her words delicately cruel. "I will slaughter you, your men, your little family, everyone and everything you care about will crumble to the ground. And do you know why?"

A fire greater than the chaotic blaze that had destroyed Isaac and his men smoldered violently in her eyes. "Because that man took away my reason for living. My reason for existence. My reason for _everything." _

She hesitated, the anger dying from her features just a touch as she smiled lightly, as though trying to be kind. She placed a claw on his chest. "Now," she said coolly. "Where is my father?"


	7. Chapter 7

Garrick Carson surveyed the destruction on his TV screen, his grey eyes observing the havoc his daughter had wrought. His right hand partially covered his mouth, his gaze intent on the news program displaying Shade's handiwork.

He sighed through his nose. "Predictable," he said dully, removing his hand from his mouth. "I expected a bit more from you, Shade. Perhaps I overestimated you a bit too much."

He stood, a regal-looking man of such royal bearing it was impossible to think of him as anything but a king. His red bathrobe, trimmed with black, came all the way down to his ankles, flowing around his black-shoed feet. He still wore his shoes in the house, as though he expected to have to take off running at any moment. But this was not the type of man who usually had to run.

He stood above a large chessboard, made an idle move, then walked to his computer. He quickly tapped out a few notes, then made a discontented, "hmm…" under his breath. His eyebrow lifted.

"Oh, you're not really that desperate, are you?" He asked, sounding rather bored. But there was a spark in his eyes, something that had died off long ago, a spark of interest in the world around him. His other eyebrow went up as everything clicked into place.

"Oh," he said, realization making his movements a thousand times lighter. "Oh ho! Ha!" he started to laugh, a deep, rumbling laugh so unlike his daughter's own twisted snickering. "So that is your plan…" He stood, crossed to the chess board, and whirled it around so that he could see the black pieces. He moved one; the queen. It was directly under line of fire from another white piece; he moved that piece, taking the queen with a quick flourish of the wrist, his eyes intent.

He made another move, studied the board, then laughed again, "HA!"

He lashed out at the board, swiping his arm across it, sending the glass pieces scattering in a thousand directions. A few of them cracked in half, some shattered, and some fragmented. The black queen-the one that had been sacrificed- had a thin, solid crack running through it, splintering it.

"Checkmate!" Garrick said with another roaring laugh. "Oh, you continue to surprise me, dear daughter." He turned away from the board, walking to the enormous windows-bulletproof, naturally- that stared out at the New York skyline that Shade and Spider-Man claimed to own. He'd never debated this with them; let them have their delusions. Everyone who was anyone knew the truth; that skyline was his and his alone.

"You don't intend to make it back alive, then," he said, still laughing. "Oh, what a marvelous job I've done on you, that you hate me so much."

His foot nudged against one of the black pieces; the knight. He picked it up with long, thin fingers, then slowly turned it around and around. "Who knew that your brother, that mistake, the one thing I never meant to do, never planned for, would be your undoing?"

* * *

Peter felt sick to his stomach just thinking about the explosion. There was no proof that it had been Shade's doing, but he knew for a fact that it was. It was Shade, after all. He could see her fingerprints everywhere, saw her handiwork all over the place.

It didn't help that there was a lot of blood in his shower the next day. When questioned, his Aunt admitted that she'd thought she'd heard something upstairs, and when she'd checked to see if it was him, Shade had responded. She'd gotten a fresh change of clothes (May also added that it might be a good idea for them to stock up on some more women's clothing in her size, if this was going to be a regular thing) taken a shower and split before May ever properly saw her.

Peter didn't believe her. There was a look in May's eyes that suggested she was hiding something, but he didn't push it too far. She would tell him if it was important, and when his slight prodding yielded no results, he concluded it obviously wasn't important enough.

Still, he was worried. Really, if the blood in the shower hadn't been enough (he wasn't sure if it was all hers) there was the massive explosion, the continued silence from her despite his many texts… He felt completely helpless. Right now, he'd have given anything to go back in time, to follow her when she'd jumped out his window, to go after her and help her in whatever she needed. This waiting around was _torture._

As he slung around the city, he looked for her, or more of her destructive touch. There were a few reports of people going missing, and the occasional odd murder, but nothing he could positively identify to Shade. That didn't stop good old Triple J from pinning it on her, though; her and Spider-Man. Peter would have been angry about it, but honestly, at this point, he was too tired to care.

He found himself in that position now, selling the man some photos of Spider-Man stopping a robbery. He hadn't really been looking for trouble; just for Shade.

"What's this?" Jonah had yelled, like he always did.

"Pictures," Peter answered dully.

"They're crap! Get rid of them!" He tossed them across the room. "There's a mysterious explosion, a bunch of dead people and a missing super villain out there, and all you can give me is this worthless garbage! Get me photos of Spider-Man doing something interesting for once… Like ripping someone's throat out! That'll make for an interesting story! Or hey, maybe get pictures of that creepy 'Dark' character; haven't seen her in a while, she's sure to be causing hell!"

Peter felt his hands clench into fists. Ok, he was lying. This was annoying him. Badly. He knew it shouldn't-he had way too much on his plate right now- but right now, this was the proverbial straw that was breaking a certain mutated spider-camel's back. He picked one of the pictures off the ground and slammed it down on J. Jonah Jameson's desk, his hands clawing there.

"Don't you get it?" He growled, low in his throat. "Spider-Man isn't a killer. He's not a monster. He's none of that." His eyes narrowed. "And neither is the Dark! You sit behind that damn desk of yours and you ruin peoples' _lives!"_

He was hyperventilating. He had to calm down _now. _He could feel every muscle shaking, his nerves twitching. No matter how hard he tried to keep himself relaxed, he couldn't do it. How many years had he put up with this crap? How long had he let Jameson ruin his life? And how could he take it any longer, when this man was tearing down Shade, who'd been through enough hell as it was without a certain newspaper reporter making her life a thousand times more miserable?

"You know what, I'm really freaking _sick _of this," he snarled. Jameson looked at him, appalled and amazed. As far as he was concerned, Peter didn't have any guts whatsoever. That he was doing this, facing up to Jameson like this, was unprecedented. "I work day after day, getting you these damn pictures," he threw the one in his hand aside, "Just to have you misconstrue the truth, just to have you pay me a thousand times less than what they're worth, and do you know why? Because some sick, masochistic part of myself still thinks you've got some _decency _left in you, Jameson, but I guess I'm dead wrong!" He pulled his camera out of his pocket; one of those cheap, disposable ones. "_Here! _Take it! Take it for free! Because it's all you're ever going to get out of me, ever again!" He threw up his hands. "Whatever's left on that film is all you'll get; it's time I start selling to papers that'll give me some actual _money _for once, papers that'll keep me from going broke, that'll help me pay for my aunt's medicine, papers that don't give you all these bald-faced _lies! _So screw you! I QUIT! Oh, wait, I _can't _quit! I don't even have a freaking _job!_"

He was shaking even harder. He couldn't believe how angry he was getting; it was just Jameson. This was nothing new. But he was at his breaking point; the pressure was finally too much for him. He whirled around and started stalking out the door, when a cold, calm voice spoke behind him.

"Well, Mr. Parker. I don't think I could have said it better myself."

He spun back around, his heart soaring. He saw Jameson turning as well, shock crossing his face. Crouched in the window, sitting on the windowsill with her back pressing against the frame, her head barely turned to them, was the Dark.

Something inside him just started singing; she was ok. She was actually ok. Her masked eyes turned to Jameson, who started to bluster something about mutant freaks. She sighed exasperatedly.

"Oh, hush you," she said coldly, shooting out a thick web, pinning Jameson to the wall, then firing another web across his mouth. "The grown-ups are talking now."

She stood, moving fluidly to Peter's side. "You've got gumption, kid. I like that." She ruffled his hair playfully; Peter's heart, however, sank. Her hand felt weak on his head; he felt as though he could simply whip his own hand up and grab it before she could move away, snap her wrist in two, even. She was so frail and thin, making all of his earlier delusions about her shatter around him. She wasn't ok. She wasn't even close.

"Shade," he mouthed sadly, looking at her, his lips concealed from prying eyes and thus making sure he wasn't revealing her identity.

"I'm fine," She breathed. Lying through her teeth, as usual. Trying to protect him. He didn't need protecting, dammit.

She turned to Jameson, looking him up and down like he was a museum piece. "It normally annoys me when all of those other costumed dweebs keep coming in here to deliver their ultimatums through your paper, but hey, if it ain't broke, don't fix it. So here's the thing." She gripped the edge of the black webbing on the editor's mouth and began pulling it off. Slowly.

"You're going to put these exact words in the paper. You're not going to question me, you're not going to say anything about it. You're just going to put it as the headline. I don't give a damn as to what you put underneath, but this is your headline, got it?"

She'd pried the web off about halfway and left it hanging there, so he had to murmur through that, "Wha' hemline?"

Peter could only imagine the smile underneath her mask. "White is Black and Black is White. The Dark's Come Back to Claim her Night."

"Thass a long hemline," he blustered.

"It'll do," the Dark replied breezily. She swept up the little disposable camera and tossed it to Peter. He caught it klutzily; purposely klutzily. She hesitated, watching him for a second, then said, "Give the man one more pic, Parker." She turned to the window and jumped out, falling to the ground spread-eagled. Peter ran to the window and took a few shots in quick succession.

_Pull up, _he thought as she got closer to the ground. His heart started to pound. _Pull up! _

For just a second, he thought she'd go splat. Then, just before that happened, a thousand strands of webbing shot away from the suit from every angle, from her shoulders, her arms, everywhere. A few pushed away from the ground, but the majority caught her on other buildings, pulling her up into the air as she threw herself backwards, flipping a few times and catching herself with another strand, crying out like a kid on Christmas. _"Woo Hoo!_"

Peter kept taking pictures until she was gone.

"PARKTHER! Lemmie outha this!" Jameson spluttered against the half-web still binding him. Peter rolled his eyes, then ripped off the rest of his gag quickly, taking off a small part of the man's mustache. He let out an obviously-embarrassing squeak, and Peter hid a grin.

"You know, I don't think I'm qualified to help you outta this one, Triple J." he remarked casually. "Maybe I'll just call emergency services. Again." He tried to keep from laughing.

"Fine!" The man growled. "Just… leave that camera on the desk. And when you come crawling back…"

Peter stopped him. "Erm… no." he tossed the camera into the air. "The price on this little baby just went up." His eyes shone. "A lot."

* * *

As Peter had suspected, Shade was waiting there for him when he got back home. She and his aunt were talking to each other in a quite friendly manner; Peter knew he should question it, but living with his aunt these days was weird enough without digging any deeper.

It was slightly weird, though, considering how his aunt was sitting down normally, while the Dark was dangling upside down, standing on the ceiling, and May barely seemed to notice.

"So. Got a touch of the poet in you?" Peter pulled up a chair beside her; the two of them had stopped speaking the second he entered the room. Shade shuffled on her feet, looking to him.

"Ugh," She groaned, knowing that he was referencing the headline she'd given Jameson. "So not my idea. Jessie told me that was the best way to get their attention."

"Jessie?"

"Erm…" Shade shuffled again, a little apologetically this time. "The guy whose blood was on your bathroom tiles. Sorry about that, by the way."

Peter swallowed. "Good to know," he said weakly, shooting a covert glance at his aunt.

She smiled and stood. "Why don't I go get you both some pie? You both look like you could use some."

She had to be screaming on the inside. No one could be this cool with everything. Peter had been waiting for the big freak out since the secret had been spilled, but so far, nada. To be honest, it was freaking _him _out.

"Sounds great, Mrs. Parker," Shade said warmly. May beamed and went to the kitchen. Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Mrs. Parker?" he inquired. "That's a bit too respectful for the Shade that I know."

"Hey, your aunt _earned _my respect. That's hard to do." The mask retreated from around her face. "She's a good person, your aunt."

He smiled softly, sadly. "Yeah, she is." He shook his head, trying to clear it. "So, um… blood?"

She gave him a neutral glance. "Yeah? What about it?"

"Erm… did he… I mean, did you… is he…?" He swallowed. "Did you kill him?" He finally forced himself to say.

She blinked. "Not exactly."

"Oh, not exactly, that clears things up _real nicely._"

She chuckled. "Well, _I _didn't kill him. I got what I needed out of him-which was torture, by the way," She added with a roguish wink that sent shivers up his spine. "But then I released him."

"So he's not dead."

"Ah-ah-ah," she said, wagging a finger. "I didn't say that. I let him go all right, but where's he going to go, except sniveling back to my father? Garrick Carson is not a forgiving man, believe me. The guy's _lucky_ if he's dead." She rolled her eyes, then folded herself into a seated position. On the ceiling.

_Mind warp, _Peter thought, then shook it away. "Ok, there's so many things wrong with that, I don't know where to begin. First, your father's name is _Garrick?_ What kind of super villain name is that?"

Her eyes narrowed on him. "What kind of superhero name is 'Peter,' Peter?"

"Touché."

"Besides; you get to the top, and it don't matter what your name is; everyone will fear it."

"All right. Point two: you are having way too much fun with this whole 'death, chaos, destruction, boom' thing."

"Guilty." She shrugged.

"Point three, I thought we went over this already. Killing _bad." _He said, as though speaking to a child."Working out your differences _good._"

Shade snorted and adopted the same tone. "Living _good. _Dying _bad._" She rolled her eyes again. "Case closed."

He sighed through his teeth. "What am I going to do with you?" He muttered, running a hand over his face.

May returned then, a plate of cold pie in each of her hands. She set the first on the table next to Peter, and Shade flipped down off the ceiling, sitting across from him as May handed over her slice, smiling genially.

"Thanks, Aunt May," Peter said, smiling back at her.

"Thanks," mumbled Shade, before she started scarfing down pie. She finished it before she spoke again, but that wasn't saying much, as she was finished in about thirty seconds.

"So I'm gonna crash on your couch again tonight," she said, wiping her mouth with a napkin as daintily as a person who just inhaled a slice of apple pie can. "But then I'll have to leave until this whole thing is over. It'll be way too dangerous."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Shade. If you don't quit trying to protect me, I swear, I'll beat you to a pulp."

She paused a second to give him a wolfish grin. "I'd love to see you try," she answered, then stood. "Thanks for the pie, Mrs. Parker. Sorry I'm hogging your couch."

"Oh, it's no problem, dear," May said with another smile as Shade went to clean her dishes.

Of the three of them, Shade was asleep first. She snored like insanity, so Peter shoved a pillow on her face-making sure she was breathing afterwards- and that seemed to shut things up a bit. Seeing as Shade was asleep at around six, Peter and May were left talking quietly, trying not to wake her.

The conversation stayed trivial for a long time; homework, exams, Jameson. But it soon turned to the big, black-suited elephant in the room.

"She's a sweet girl," May said after a long pause in the conversation, her eyes drifting to the small, still-not-out-of-costume figure of Shade sprawled out on the couch.

"What on earth gave you that idea?" Peter asked incredulously. "She's a crazy maniac that should have been put in an asylum years ago. The only reason she wasn't is that her mother was crazier than she was, and then she got her hands on an alien symbiote, and who's gonna argue with that?"

May half-scowled. "Peter!" She chided softly.

"What? It's the truth."

They fell silent for a little longer, then he spoke up again. "She's still… a good person, I guess. I don't know any more."

"Why?"

"Hmm?"

"Why don't you know?" Aunt May's eyes were searching. "Is it because she's killed people?"

He frowned. "Well… no. I… I have my doubts about her, not because she's killed people, but because she has no regrets about it. Spider-Man…" he choked, but forced his words out. "Spider-Man's killed people before, but it was always immediate self-defense, life or death, and it… it gnawed away at me for years. With Shade… it's like… like she forgets all about it a minute later. Like she even has fun with it. It… scares me."

"Is that what you really think?" May asked, watching him steadily. "That she just forgets?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know what else to think," he admitted.

"Oh, Peter. You're a sensitive boy, a sweet boy, but you're still a _boy. _You've got the emotional sense of my frying pan. You just don't understand, I suppose, but Shade is going through the same thing you were; and a thousand times worse, seeing as it's tipping across the line of self-defense and starting to fall into downright murder."

Peter looked at her in shock. Sometimes, it really amazed him how easily his aunt just saw through all this mutant craziness and cut straight through to the heart of the matter.

"Look at her, Peter. That look she gets… the way she stares out at nothing, or that desperate fire in her eyes… do you really think that's only because of her hatred for her father?"

He lifted an eyebrow. "She told you about her father?"

"She didn't have to. You've talked about it with her often enough with me in hearing range." She sighed and looked away. "And she has talked with me about it to a limited degree." There was another long silence, then she changed the subject back again. "The point still stands. Shade has reached a very desperate stage; she's trying to survive through this, trying to stop her father from killing her, trying to stop from killing herself by killing everyone else… And what she needs right now isn't someone who'll accuse her of murder at every opportunity. What she needs right now is someone who will help her." May looked him directly in the eye. "Why do you think I didn't say anything when she made those comments about the blood in the shower, or when she talks about the people she's killed, or even when she just acts like herself, sitting on ceilings and doing crazy loop-de-loops at random? It's because she's _trying _to provoke a reaction. She wants me to get angry with her, to yell and scream and tell her she's wrong for everything she's doing. She knows _you'll _do that, on occasion, so it doesn't mean as much when you do. But, the way she feels, if I do something like that, then she'll know she's finally crossed the line."

Peter considered that for a long time. "But… you aren't giving her that reaction. I mean, Aunt May, she crossed that line a long time ago."

May looked away. "No. I'm not the one who needs to tell her she's wrong; she needs to figure that out for herself. She doesn't need someone else to accuse her of all these horrible things; she needs to do it herself. And then she needs someone who'll hold her hand, let her cry on their shoulder, help her through it, once she's finally faced the truth. Does that make sense?"

Strangely, it did. Peter nodded slowly. "Yeah. Kinda." He looked down; May took his chin in her fingers and forced him to look her directly in the eye.

"And Peter, I hope you'll have the courage to be that person. To be the one to help her through. Because she doesn't need an old bat like me to do that; she needs you. The friend she doesn't need to protect."

* * *

Peter woke at about two o'clock in the morning the next day to the sound of retching and swearing.

"Dammit!" the curses came out in a long stream, hissing through Shade's teeth; he had no doubt it was her. He got up slowly, walking to the door and following the sounds to the bathroom.

Shade was curled up on the tile, one arm cradling her stomach while the other rested on the toilet seat. Her head was bowed over the toilet bowl, and, as he watched, she gagged up a large amount of bile. The suit stood behind her, watching, occasionally holding aside her hair as she gagged into the bowl.

It was pathetic, really. The fluorescent lighting cast a dim, sickly yellow light on her skin, making her look more sick than she was. But she looked pretty freaking sick; even without the bad lighting, her skin was pale as death itself. She was so skinny that her bones were showing clearly through her skin. There were dark bags under her eyes; her fingers were long and skeletal as she clutched the white porcelain feebly. Her joints were the worst part, sticking out so prominently that Peter wondered how the suit was managing to cover it.

He knocked once; the symbiote gave him a look that, while it looked blank and apathetic, conveyed so much hatred that Peter felt something in him curdle and die. He ignored this. "Shade? You ok?"

"What the hell does it look like?" She croaked, her words echoing. She spat into the toilet and sat back, flushing it and groaning. "I'm just fine," she growled.

He was by her side in just a moment, brushing aside the symbiote. He heard it sliding its claws together, but ignored that as well, keeping his focus on Shade. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, wiping her mouth. She looked grubby and gross, and probably felt a whole lot worse. "You got any toothpaste?"

He nodded and went to get it for her; she held a hand out to the suit, and a small pocket dissolved on its arm, revealing a toothbrush in a plastic bag.

"Nifty," Peter remarked as Shade plucked it out. She grunted and took the toothpaste from him, then said nothing further until she'd finished. It took a while, as halfway through the first attempt, she threw up again, but when she was finished, he helped her back to the couch, the suit shadowing them silently.

"What's happening to you, Shade?" Peter asked quietly as she settled down, pulling a blanket up around her.

"I told yah, Petey. I can't eat anymore. Can't sleep. Can't do anything. All I can do is think about him, and what I'm going to do to him."

"What, so you haven't eaten in months?" He looked her up and down. Right now, he could believe that.

"Not really," She admitted. "For a long time, I just… didn't. Then, when I did, my stomach started reacting. I can't stomach anything too big; if I overdo it, its bye-bye lunch." She sighed. "I don't know how long I can keep going like this."

"This doesn't make sense. Even with your level of anger towards him, you shouldn't be… _starving _like this."

The symbiote made a gesture like it was clearing its throat pointedly, then touched Shade's shoulder. Through her voice, it spoke, "My fault, I'm afraid. Through my influence, Shade's desire for revenge is becoming an actual, physical reaction. Until it is fulfilled, she will be unable to do anything; it was not my intention, but I have never worked with anyone such as her."

Shade swallowed, shivering a little. "That about sums it up," she said weakly.

Peter gently stroked her arm, a little awkward, as he wanted to hug her but didn't see how in their positions on the couch; her half-lying down on two cushions with him sitting upright on the third. "What did he do? I mean, beyond killing your brother, because this goes way past that."

"No it doesn't," Shade answered darkly.

Peter backtracked quickly. "You know what I mean; it's not _just_ about him killing your brother. I guess… I guess what I'm trying to say is, it's because _he _was the one who killed him. Does that make sense?"

She smiled ruefully and looked away, draping her bone-thin arm over her raised knee. "More than you know." She kept her eyes on the ground. "I got more outta that guy Jessie than I thought I would. I mean, he started squealing like a pig after a while, but… I dunno, I thought I'd just get the place my dad was. But… I think he wanted to suck up to him, because he started telling me all these things from my past, trying to make me angrier." She ran a hand through her dry, thin brown hair. "And the problem, is, it worked. It pissed me off so bad it's not even funny. And all I wanna do is make him bleed." Her hands clawed at her blanket, grasping it tightly.

"Why?" Peter asked, his eyebrows furrowing. "What could he have said that's worse than a man killing his own kid?"

She laughed once, bitter. "What, indeed. You know, that's exactly what I thought." She wasn't looking at Peter anymore, but at the floor, her eyes dissecting each and every fiber of the carpet. "And then he told me that I was born for this. That I'd been _made _for this, to be the suit's host, the perfect freaking lab rat. A freaking _experiment._ My dad, before he was the big boss man, but when he was almost there… he 'made the ultimate plan'. That plan was me. He found the person with the most problems in the world, all the right ones- get that! All the right freaking problems!- and he _married _her. Made her think she was in love with him and _married _her, all for the sake of having a _kid. _I was that kid. The poor sap, born into all that grief and anger…" She shook her head violently, jamming her fists into her eyes to wipe away the tears.

"But that wasn't enough! He told me he loved me, every day, trained me as best he could, gave me the bullcrap that he was FBI to explain it away, then turned around and _left me. _Left me, just out of the blue, told me we were all going on a family trip, then ripped up my ticket when he _knew _I was watching and left me behind. All part of his damn 'master plan'.

"And then he found out my mom was pregnant again, had gotten pregnant before he left, and she had a kid. A kid he didn't plan for. But did he let that ruin it? No, he just used it to his advantage! Came to Ash one day when I wasn't around, when it was just him and my mother, too drunk to remember he'd been there! And you know what that sick son of a bitch did _then?_"

Peter, who'd been listening to the tale in rapt horror, shook his head mutely.

Shade laughed; a short, barking sound. It was horrible; the tears streaming down her cheeks, a look of absolute insanity in her eyes.

"He told Ash," she stopped, her breath hitching, then forced herself to go on, "He told my baby brother that he needed a favor from him. Something to 'help sissy out'. And my little baby, he would have done anything to help me, and that's just what he did! He agreed to go out into the street at just the right moment, when he saw the 'big blue car.' He didn't know what was going to happen, he just did it, because he trusted daddy to do the right thing, trusted that it would help me! Well it helped me all right! Helped me see what a low-life my own father was! Helped me see the truth; that he needs to _die _and I need to be the one to do it! That he deserves the longest, slowest, most painful death I can possibly imagine, and that's just what I'm going to give him!"

She howled, curling into a ball. Peter wanted to reach out and hug her, wanted to do something for her, but he found he couldn't do it, found himself too numb to do anything. Shade rolled her eyes suddenly and looked to the suit.

"Oh, go ahead," she snapped, throwing out an arm. All but trembling, it gripped her hand desperately and spread across her like a virus, leaving her mask off.

That shook Peter out of it quick; the suit, undoubtedly, just wanted a closer taste of her anger. But it didn't seem right to him that the only comforting embrace she had came from that disgusting, vile _thing _that only wanted to leech more out of her, just like everything else in her life. He quickly adjusted himself, then picked her up into his arms, holding her on his lap. She stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, letting him hold her, curling up there. She was even smaller than the first time he'd done this, such a tiny little thing.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, pressing his lips into her hair. "Oh, Shade, I'm so very, very sorry… I didn't know… I didn't know…"

He continued to murmur hopefully-comforting phrases, rocking her back and forth gently as she sobbed.

"And do you know the sick part? The part that twists me up inside?" She asked, trying to whisper but her voice broken and strained. "Is that, a long time ago, when he said he loved me? I said I loved him, too. I loved that sick bastard. And I can never forget that."

* * *

Shade was gone by the next morning.

It really pissed Peter off, that she'd just ditched him like that. Especially after he'd made her swear she wouldn't, made her swear that she would let him come with her, let him help her.

He supposed broken promises were nothing new to her, though.

The only thing to validate her existence in his house at all was the note, _Sorry, Petey. This isn't your fight. –Shade._

He'd crumpled it up and thrown it halfway across the room. How could she? Didn't she know what he was trying to do for her? Didn't she know she was going to destroy herself if she kept on like this?

He snorted, threw on his costume quickly, and was out the door in seconds, hoping she wasn't too far. Maybe he could find her.

Fat chance. He had about as much chance finding her as winning the lottery; the girl was fast, faster than he was, even. With her web-slinging all over the place, he wouldn't see her again. Not until this was all over and done with.

He continued searching, however, until around noon, when his stomach growled and the cold started getting to him. Not to mention the old bullet wound twitching and throbbing; it was healing nicely, and quicker than most humans' would, but it still twinged on occasion. He dropped down to the ground and headed towards a café, changing back to civilian clothes in an alley. He caught sight of a newspaper on the way and stopped dead in his tracks, sweeping it up quickly.

There was a very simple headline on the top. CHALLENGE ACCEPTED. A quick breeze through the article told him that a mysterious figure had showed up at the Bugle's office; a female agent who informed a certain cranky editor that she was meant to respond to The Dark's strange, poetic ultimatum. Otherwise, there wasn't much on her; she said her piece, then left without another word.

Dazed, Peter bought the paper and read every article, but there wasn't much more on the strange woman. He bought himself a coffee and a bagel and read the paper again, his mind buzzing.

What had Shade gotten into?


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry for the late update!**

Shade smirked, throwing the paper to the ground as she stood in the ashes she'd created. It had taken a lot to get in here, sneaking past police and detectives still investigating the area. Like she cared about them; she'd made sure the place wasn't heavily populated before she'd made it go boom. In fact, there wasn't anyone there except the men from the Braith.

She knelt on the ground, running the ashes through her fingers. "Huh. This could have been a person, once. Interesting, isn't it?"

_It isn't anymore, _the suit answered stiffly. It shifted around her body ever-so-slightly, but the movement chaffed against her skin as though it were made of steel wool. She flinched and stood upright, the ashes swirling around her. The skies were as grey as the ground, and distant thunder rumbled, the occasional flare of lightning streaking through the sky.

Shade looked up; the clouds were a strange, roiling tumult of darker and lighter grays, occasionally accented by pitch black and the barest hint of the sun trying to peek through streaking them white. It was beautiful, beyond doubt, but for some reason, it made Shade somehow sad.

"You are a strange one," a voice said behind her; Shade whirled, immediately on the defense, half-crouching-half-kneeling, her claws extending at her sides as the suit wrapped itself around her.

The person standing there was really one to talk about 'strange'. He had blonde hair, eyes that sparked in the distant lightning, and looked like he was going to a geeky nerd convention; he was wearing some kind of medieval battle armor, a strange, bulky-looking weapon in his belt. There was a little smile on his face, quirky and smug, making Shade a little miffed. She didn't like people when they were smug; it just said they knew more than you did. Or they thought they did. Either way, it wasn't good.

His red cape sashayed around him, whipping about in the breeze just a little more than it should. "Who are you?" Shade demanded fiercely.

He chuckled; the distant thunder rumbled very faintly. "Ah, Shade Carson. I've been watching you for a while now."

Ok, that, Shade didn't like. She'd felt someone watching her quite frequently in her lifetime, and it was never something she cared for. She didn't doubt the man's word; geeky costume or no, she could honestly say she'd met far weirder psychos in her life. Which was really freaking depressing, when she thought about it.

But yes, she knew not to underestimate crazy costumed psychos. They tended to have guns. That bulky weapon of his- what the hell was it? A mace?- looked pretty good for bashing in skulls, and the man was ripped like nobody's business. His watching her was not something to be taken lightly.

"Who are you?" She demanded again, every muscle coiled and tense, ready to snap into action.

"You have great courage," the man went on, nodding approvingly. His gleaming eyes caught hers, seeming to cut right through her. "All the courage of a fool."

"In case you didn't know already, I am a fool," Shade said, then giggled to illustrate her point. "The Queen of Fools, as it happens; no one else would fall for the tricks I have. Now. What do you want?"

He regarded her almost sadly. "I want you to be free."

The suit protested, _free of what? __**Me? **_

"I am free!" Shade spat in response.

"No," he shook his head. "You are not."

"Dammit, who are you? Spill, or I'm gonna slice you up like so much banana cream pie." Where did _that _analogy come from? _Damn May Parker and her amazing pies! Now I'm hungry!_

_ Focus, _the suit scolded, and Shade's eyes narrowed on the man.

"You are not meant to know. Not yet." The man turned away. "I wish I could change your fate, but there are many paths you may still take. Choose wisely, little hero."

"Little? I'll show you freaking_ little…_" She popped out of her crouch, throwing out a web, but the mist suddenly swirled around him, cloaking him entirely. She felt her web hit nothing but air and swore as the silver fog disappeared. The man was gone.

"Of course," she grumbled irritably. "Of _course." _Her stomach growled angrily, and she glared at it. "You and your pie cravings."

"Shade," the suit hijacked her vocal chords to say, "You need to focus. You're drifting here. The Braith will be here any moment; please, control yourself."

Shade rolled her eyes. "But I'm _hungry._" Her stomach growled again.

"And your father? You're just going to let him go unpunished because of _your _weakness?"

Owch. That one stung. Shade straightened. "That's a low blow, even for you."

"I'm sorry. But I don't want to _die _because of your sweet tooth. The Braith will be here soon. Are you ready?"

She sighed; it was right. This wasn't the time for games. It was sad; she'd been feeling human for a second there, when that weirdo had been around. But now she felt herself settling back into her own aching skin and bones, felt herself returning to her hatred. "Yeah. You take care of the cameras?"

"Already done."

"Good. Let's do this."

* * *

They had launched their attack on Shade Marie Carson, leaving the Braith headquarters and charging at the site of her choosing; the place she had reduced to rubble.

Garrick twisted the splintered black queen around in his fingers, a little smile on his face. In all likelihood, the men he'd sent out there to deal with her would be dead in minutes. Still, he had sent them. He wanted to know how his daughter intended to play this one out.

Ok, so she had their forces divided. A large group had been dispatched to answer her challenge. Among that group had been a certain Jessie Blackfield; Garrick half-smiled. Ah, irony.

But there was still a formidable army here; how did she think she was going to get past them? He knew this was her intent, as she'd made it fairly obvious that he was her final target, that he was the goal she was striving towards. But how did she plan on doing it? Was she winging it? No, he didn't believe that. She was too much like him for that; she planned out every move, calculated every strategy.

He smirked and swiveled his chair towards the window, setting the queen aside and folding his hands. Well, almost every strategy. She did not know everything. She did not know the strength of their numbers. She did not know the extent of their weaponry. She did not know their true power.

The problem was, she _did _know that she was in the dark on many issues. She knew that she was no match for them, and that there were certain things that she couldn't fight. So why the hell was she still doing this? Why was she behaving so recklessly?

He snorted in disgust, standing and crossing the room to where an enormous table stretched out, a number of assorted pictures on it. He flicked through them casually-Shade as a child, a strange blob of silver, Venom swinging through the sky- as he muttered angrily under his breath. He blamed that reckless streak on her mother's genes; as perfect as the woman had been in terms of Shade's upbringing, her influence had tainted Shade in other, less noticeable ways.

Because of this influence, Shade was not perfect. Had she been a clone, perhaps things would have been different. Perhaps he could predict her actions more accurately. But she was not; this was before they'd even considered that possibility. Before they'd had a chance to do so.

So Shade was still the imperfect little girl that he'd designed and created for one purpose; and she was fulfilling that purpose, coming here the way she was, stupid and reckless or no.

Still, though he would admit it to no one, not even himself, he had nagging doubts in the back of his mind. Something didn't feel right. Something was off. He knew every possible outcome of this battle, and only one ended with Shade the winner-so incredibly unlikely that it was not worth considering. But there was just that faint, vague suspicion that gnawed away at him; what if he didn't have all the variables? What if Shade wasn't really charging in blind? What if she had a plan, something he hadn't considered?

Impossible. He'd considered everything. He shoved it aside before it ever came into conscious thought; his daughter was just a stupid, thoughtless, careless teenage girl. She could do nothing, think of nothing that he hadn't previously done or thought of himself.

He returned to his seat, watching the thundering, starry sky thoughtfully. He quickly set the black queen upright, then placed the white queen-which had survived intact, save a small chip at its crown- next to it. Things were going to get very interesting.

* * *

It battled at the glass, screaming in its desperation, throwing itself against the clear shield that kept it away. It let out a high-pitched keening, battering itself against the bulletproof glass walls, bouncing back and forth between them, trying to move forwards, trying to get at her.

It tried to plead with them; it needed her. It wanted her so badly it could taste it. It was shaking, quivering as they tied her down in the chair. It shrieked with laughter as pale fingers tapped out a few codes outside of its glass cell, ready to release it. It waited impatiently, writhing around in anticipation as the glass slowly went upwards.

Just a crack and it was rushing forwards, a flash of pale starlight, out of its confinement and across the floor towards her. Her head lolled to the side, her blonde hair falling across her bruised and broken features. It keened excitedly as it caught her ankle, then started to spread, a virus that took her over swiftly and assuredly. Oh, it was wonderful; the hatred of its previous hosts paled in comparison to the potential this one had.

Its captors- it could hardly call them that anymore; perhaps its _caretakers- _waited as it spread across her pale skin. Forget the hatred; there was so much _power _packed into this frail, simple, tiny form. It lapped it up, attaching itself there, unmovable and permanent, a fixed feature on her, for now and forever.

The caretakers watched as it took control of her, pushing past her struggling mind and overpowering her with ease. She became its puppet, easy to manipulate, set on its strings. The caretakers smiled to themselves as one pulled out a picture. It was split down the middle, a large poster board that displayed two people that were really one; a young girl, maybe seventeen, with brown hair and grey eyes. Her face was sweet but there was a strange glint in those eyes, a sort of sad malice. Beneath the picture of her was the name, 'Shade Marie Carson.'

Daughter of Mr. Garrick Carson, it presumed, stretching out its host's hands, feeling glorious. It eyed the second figure, identified below as 'The Dark'. But it would have recognized that black creature anywhere, in any form of disguise.

It threw out a hand; something small, sharp, and powerful flew away from it, slicing through the air and straight through the metal walls. It laughed, turning its host's laughter into something mocking and cruel, high and twittering, almost like a dolphin's.

"Lokes Forbandelse," it said, very clearly, then laughed again. "Time to die."

* * *

Shade sat, perched in the window on the second floor. The room was empty; she was meant to get to the penthouse. Easy; she could just crawl up the walls until she got there. No one needed to see her; she was good at being invisible.

But that wasn't the problem. There were heat sensors _everywhere. _The place was completely wired, and though she'd hacked through a bit of it so that she wouldn't show up for now, even her abilities had limits. The background coding on everything changed every half an hour. It had taken her ten minutes to get here, so twenty minutes.

There was a lot a person could do in twenty minutes. But climbing the wall with a bazillion guards around it was not one of them. Particularly if she was avoiding windows. The place was also lit up like a Christmas tree; just another bright skyscraper making its stamp on the NYC skyline, floodlighted and impossible to creep up on, even for her.

That was all right; she'd have to take the harder route. Fine by her. She swiped her claws across the glass a few times, then kicked it in. It shattered everywhere, but no alarms reacted yet. Twenty minutes of silence, so long as she made sure no guards or other random people saw her.

She swung inside and took to the ceiling; she felt more comfortable up there than on the ground. It was easier. Freer.

And a shitload weirder. Ah, well, couldn't win 'em all.

She slowly crept along the ceiling, silent and swift as the twisting shadows. She got through the room and into the next one before she saw the guards; they weren't stupid guards, either. They looked everywhere; even the ceiling.

So she took them out. Dropping on them before they could react, she bashed their heads together with a very satisfying _clunk; _Shade found it a very similar sound to that of two melons being smacked together. Only, sadly, these guys didn't squish on impact. Oh, well.

This was the constant pattern as she made her way to the elevator, which she opened, then popped open the top of the elevator and started climbing the shaft. Elevators were for wusses. She was the Dark, dammit, she had super-mutant-spider-powers for a reason.

She kept climbing, her silvery mask-eyes hiding the fierce, terrible glint in her eyes. But the suit was hiding something else, too.

Something that would bring her father to his knees.

* * *

Spider-Man felt his desperation increase as he swung from building to building, going through facts in his head. The Braith were huge; ergo, they had to have a cover. Something big. Something worldwide.

That narrowed it down to about a billion buildings. He groaned in frustration and threw himself off a rooftop, flipping upwards, launching himself with a thick strand of webbing onto a rooftop two buildings away.

"Where _are you?_" He demanded, screaming at the top of his lungs. _"Shade Marie Carson, where are you?_"

He felt himself tremble. He'd begun his search again after eating, and wasn't stopping even now, ten minutes till sunset. His heart was pounding, his lungs screaming, his muscles aching with the futility of the search.

He heard something laughing behind him, and he whirled around. Standing there was the creepiest geek-in-a-costume he ever thought he'd see in his lifetime. And he'd seen _a lot _of creepy costumed geeks.

This was different. This was… _medieval. _And somehow, vaguely, familiar. His heart stuttered.

"Well, it seems your little girl has found my curse," he said, laughing. He was thin, wiry, with a shock of brown hair and a strange green cloak on his shoulders. A gold metal breastplate protected his chest, and his entire outfit seemed to be comprised of gold, green, and brown; a majority of it being solid battle armor.

"Who are you?" Spider-Man asked, hands clenching in fists, readying himself for a fight. He already didn't trust this man; there was something about him, something… off.

The man smiled, a strange glint in his eye. The lazy, cold smile of a killer danced on his lips. "Oh, you'll find out soon enough. In due time, of course."

Spider-Man's eyes narrowed. "Well, keep your 'due' time; I've got little time left, and you're wasting it." He whirled and prepared to launch himself off the roof.

"Oh? So you don't want to know where your precious 'Shade' has gone?"

He stiffened. Every muscle tensed at the name; could this stranger be one of the Braith? If he was, why was he here? Did that even matter?

He turned quickly, falling to the ground so he could push off it with his hands, throwing his feet towards the man. He laughed and dodged at just the right second, but Spider-Man was expecting that; his hand launched out and gripped the man's collar; he turned in mid-air, balanced on the side of his foot, and launching himself towards the other man, throwing them both down onto the concrete, with Spider-Man on top and soon kneeling on his chest.

"Where. Is. She?" He demanded, pressing his hand into the man's throat, holding nothing back. Despite the stranger's thin body, every blow he'd landed had simply made his hand hurt; it was like hitting a brick wall.

The man just laughed- a little painfully under Spidey's weight- and raised his hands beside his head. "Relax, Parker." Peter's blood turned cold, but the man wasn't done talking. "I'm here of my own free will, telling you quite willingly. There's no need for such hostilities."

"Why?" he demanded, not trusting the other man. "Why would you help me?"

He rolled his eyes and sighed a little ruefully. "Lokes Forbandelse. My curse? I owe it a debt."

Peter studied him for a moment. "What… Shade? You owe her…"

"Not your puny little mortal girl," the man said in disgust. "The thing she wears. The thing which links all three of us."

"The suit?" Spider-Man asked, incredulous. "You're talking about the suit?"

"Of course. What else?"

"How can you… how can you owe it a debt?"

But the man didn't answer; instead, he disappeared from beneath Spider-Man, vanishing in a puff of smoke. Peter immediately stood, whirling around frantically, looking around until his eyes locked on the man, standing behind him. He looked completely unruffled, his eyes cold.

"That doesn't matter any more, Parker. But I hope that this little token of my… _good will,_ shall we say, will be enough to repay it." He turned away, pointing a single long, thin, pale finger across the skyline. "Do you see that building there? The tall one, with the oddly shaped roof that slants to the right?"

Spider-Man looked. "Yeah…?" he said slowly.

"Garrick is on the top floor. Shade is thirty-seven floors from the top. Thirty-six… thirty-five… the girl's fast, I'll give her that." He smiled. "It shouldn't take you long to get there, but you'd better get moving. Once she reaches the top… well, you don't want her to reach the top."

Again, that lazy killer's smile. Spider-Man looked to him, ready to protest, but he disappeared in a puff of smoke. Peter turned to the skyscraper, his eyes locking on the enormous building.

_Well, Pete, what do you have to lose? _

The question rattled in his brain for a moment before he started towards it. Because really, in the end, he didn't have anything to lose; only Shade.

And that seemed like the worst loss of all.

* * *

Shade kicked in the final door; the alarms started to blare at last. Twenty minutes was up. No more silence. No more being hidden. It was time to make an entrance.

She threw herself forwards through the elevator shaft, directly into the office. People were swarming from all sides, red light flashing over and over again, sweeping across the room in deathly crimson arcs, setting horrible black silhouettes and ghastly glows on all faces. None, however, was more hideous then that of the masked face of the Dark; she was faceless. Heartless.

"Oh, turn it off, it's not like you don't have me in your sights," Shade laughed, holding out her arms. All guns were pointed at her; she could see all eyes looking her over, studying the suit, so close to that much power. They must have very considerable restraint to not try and take the suit from her right now.

But her request was obliged; the lights blinked back to their normal yellow-white, and the screaming alarm ended in a long, high-pitched whine. Safely behind his wall of guards, Garrick Carson slowly clapped.

He laughed after a moment, mocking and cruel. "Oh, very good, daughter dear."

It was the first time Shade had seen him since he'd left. The first time she'd seen him since she was six years old. And he hadn't changed a bit. Those same grey eyes that mirrored her own, different only in the callous coldness in his, the burning, fiery rage in hers. The same larger-than-life attitude. The same strong muscles, the same arrogant grin, even the same _haircut _for crying out loud.

Shade didn't know what she was expecting; in fact, she didn't think she was expecting anything. But seeing this… it was like she was a little kid again, staying up all night, hoping to see daddy come back and take her away to a fun and magical place called 'Rio', to tell her he loved her and that he could never be more proud of her.

_Oh, he'll be proud of me, _she thought, tasting shadows on her tongue, crimson in her vision. _When I blow his freaking head off. _

"The men I sent after you?" he asked, still safe behind his armed guards.

"Dead," Shade answered simply.

"Yes, I thought so. Another explosion?"

"More or less."

"I see, I see," he nodded slowly, intrigued. Shade felt her stomach churn as fury built inside her. It kept building and building, anger burning hotter and hotter. She couldn't keep it inside much longer. Soon, something had to snap. Hopefully his spine.

"And how, exactly, did you intend to proceed from here? I mean, really Shade, your actions have been rather predictable of late. You're losing your touch; or perhaps you never had it. Still, I assume you have a plan. You knew this was a trap; if you didn't, you would have been a failure of a daughter and an experiment gone wrong." He was only a few steps away, only a gun barrel and a guard away. Could she slash his throat before they sunk a bullet in her heart? Unlikely, even for her.

But she already had another plan. She always had a plan.

"So what is your great idea? Your big scheme, your genius plan for getting rid of me, the bane of your existence?"

Shade looked at him, tilting her head to the side. Slowly, the mask retreated from her face as a wicked, sadistic smile spread across her face. "Not nearly slow enough," she answered as the suit came off her entirely, revealing her grubby t-shirt and jeans, but also something else. Something that made all eyes in the room go wide.

Shade laughed.


	9. Chapter 9

_Top floor, top floor, top floor, _the mantra repeated in Peter's head as he threw himself onto the wall, climbing as fast as his enhanced speed would allow. His body was flooding with adrenaline, relieving the burning ache in his muscles, the fatigue from the back of his skull. He desperately crawled upwards, then found the floor right below the top. He suspected the top had bulletproof glass, so he went through the floor below it and started to run to the elevator. He didn't bother with the buttons; instead, he pried the doors open with his own two hands, hatred fueling his strength, blind rage searing through his eyes.

_They did this to Shade, _he growled mentally, taking three quick jumps up the shaft and onto the next floor up. _I will kill them all. I will do it for her. I will not let her become this. I will not give them that satisfaction._

Eyes ablaze beneath his mask, he threw himself into the room, landing on lithe feet. What he saw, however, made him suddenly stiff with shock.

Shade was standing there, but so was the suit; it was watching them all. There was something bulky and strange around Shade's torso, oddly shaped and somehow triggering terrible memories that he couldn't quite catch; like a word on the tip of his tongue.

And then it hit him with the full force of a hurricane; _it's a bomb. Shade's got a __**bomb **__strapped to her chest. _

Shade laughed, the hysterical, bubbling laugh of a madwoman. "Well, father? Is this genius enough for you? Am I good enough yet?" Her voice was raising to a high-pitched shriek, a squealing laugh. "_Am I good enough yet?" _She screamed, her hands clenched in fists at her sides as tears streaked down her cheeks.

_Shade, _Peter thought in horror. _No, Shade, what are you doing?_

A hundred guns trained on the pair of them; Shade held up a finger, wagging it at her father. Peter, though he couldn't see her eyes, could imagine the insane light behind them. "Ah-ah-ah, boys. Dead man's switch, mark 2. My heart stops, and so do yours, got it?"

"And his…?" Garrick-Peter assumed it was him, as all the guards were surrounding him- said slowly, gesturing behind her to where Spider-Man stood. He was rooted to the spot, absolute shock keeping him glued where he was. It was as though he'd suddenly found out that he weighed a trillion pounds; he felt heavy, bulky, unwieldy. He couldn't move to save his life.

Shade turned to him. There was a sad little look in her eye, as though this wasn't entirely unexpected but she resented him for coming anyway. "He can take care of himself," she answered quietly, then turned back to her father. "But you… I'm going to kill you. Even if it takes this. Even if I have to die to do so."

Garrick raised an eyebrow, seeming unfazed, a little smirk on his lips. "Oh? Well, this is certainly an interesting development. Yes, I should have seen this self-harming streak a long time ago. But really, Shade, you tried to commit suicide when you were eleven years old; do you really think I wouldn't be prepared for these kinds of tactics again?"

_Eleven? _That simple word hit Peter hard. Shade had told him once that Ash had helped her 'flush the pills down the toilet', but… _eleven? _It was just so wrong, just so awful that someone should be in that much pain…

And then his eyes locked on Garrick. "Damn you," he blurted out. He could feel his chest constricting, his hands balling in fists. "_Damn _you, you _bastard. _This was all your fault! You did this to her, you pushed her to this!" he threw his arms out, gesturing wildly. "You did this to your own daughter, you scum-sucking son of a bitch! Screw this, I'll kill you myself! Forget the bomb! _I'll_ kill you, and I'll have _fun _doing it!"

He took a threatening step towards Garrick, but Shade's arm whipped out and caught him. "No, Pete," she whispered. "He's tainted enough lives already. Let it stop at me. Let it end with me."

"Shade…" he tried to protest, but she cut him off, raising her voice to speak with her father again.

"Yeah? You have a plan, huh? Well fine; counterattack upon counterattack, I don't care! Bring it on!" She gestured towards herself, smacking her fist into her chest, narrowly missing the wires attached there. "Because I'm not that little kid any more! I'm so much stronger now! You've thrown all you've got at me, and I'm _still _standing tall! So come on! Give me all you've got! I can take it now! I can _take it all!" _

"Damn straight," Peter found himself snarling, stepping by her side. She was wrong, of course. No one could take all that they'd been throwing at her. But if she needed him there, he would be there. He'd been a coward for far too long; hiding behind his words, his accusations of her. Hiding behind the thought that she was a killer and nothing more. Hiding behind her protection of him. Hiding behind the idea that she didn't want him to help, when he knew, in the end, that she _needed _him to.

So she would take all they had, and he would take it with her. He would throw it back in their ugly faces. He held out his hand to her, and without even thinking, she took it. Linked in battle, linked in the bloodshed to come.

Garrick, however, simply laughed. "Well, isn't that sweet. Good to know you're strong enough for all this; that always was a worry of ours. You attracted the suit well enough, but keeping it… that was the challenge."

"Just shut up and die, bastard." Shade said, moving a hand to her stomach, where a small button screamed at them all, flashing, ready to be pressed, ready to end them all. Spider-Man could see the suit getting ready to leap away; it did not wish to die for the revenge of its host. Spider-Man himself tensed, ready to run.

But Garrick just held up a finger. "Not just yet, Shade. If I may forestall my inevitable doom for just a moment longer." He flicked the finger; a clear signal to some hidden ally. A door on the other end of the room _swoosh_edopen.

It stepped out coldly; a tall, feminine form, wearing entirely silver, from head to toe. Spider-Man saw the suit stiffen, then reach out and touch Shade's shoulder. She went shock-still for a moment, then hissed at it, "What the hell do you mean, _that's it? _That's _what?_"

Her father laughed as the figure came forwards. The style of the suit seemed vaguely familiar, but it wasn't until Spider-Man saw the small '4' insignia that he recognized it. It was the suit of the invisible woman, Susan Storm, if she'd been given a mask. But it wasn't the typical colors; this was silver, solidly so, with black lines to accentuate where any different colors would be.

And it looked, to Peter, like a symbiote. A silver one, but a symbiote nonetheless.

"Did you really think," Garrick Carson said as Shade and her own suit had a furious mental conversation, "That I would have gotten this far without a certain… edge? Oh, we've had a number of their kind trapped for a very long time. We've been doing this for thousands of years; what does the matter of a little extra power mean to us now? Even when they absorb the abilities of these so-called 'supers', they are still completely within _our _control."

Shade shifted her fingers so that they linked with Spider-Man's ever-tighter. There was a flash of pain in the back of his skull as, through Shade's thoughts, the symbiote linked them both, allowing them to carry on a mental conversation.

_I told you there was a silver one, _the symbiote said, quailing. _Do not trust it. Its power far surpasses my own. We're only going to get out of this alive if we fight together. _

_ You in? _Shade's quiet mental voice asked. There was no assumption behind the words; if he was, he was. If not, so be it. She wasn't going to hold him to anything.

But he _was. I'm in. _he answered. _But that's Susan in there, isn't it?_

_ We don't know that, _the symbiote responded. _But it could very well have her abilities. We have to find out somehow. _

Shade stepped forwards, keeping the three of them still touching, though subtly, very subtly. _Of course it has her abilities, _Spider-Man mentally hissed at the black suit. It joined over Shade's body, melting into shadow around her before rebuilding on her.

"Lokes Forbandelse…" the creature in the suit- or perhaps the creature wearing Susan Storm- said slowly, menacingly. Peter felt his heart sink; he'd heard those words before, but still didn't understand them.

_That's me, _the suit told them. _That's my name. _Then, hijacking Shade's vocal cords, it spoke aloud, "Banday Colthraldrin."

The creature laughed, a high-pitched dolphin's laugh that was somehow, strangely, frightening.

_Guys, I've fought with Susan before, _Peter thought as the suits talked to each other. _This isn't going to be easy. She's wicked powerful and deadly when she needs to be; and if this suit can amplify her power like… Lokes?_

_ Lokes Forbandelse, _Shade corrected.

_Well, if it can amplify power like ours did, then we're… well, royally screwed. _

Shade's thought, however, were dark and chaotic. _No. We can take her. I told him I can take anything. _

_ But we can't hurt her! If that is Susan, then… well, we don't want to kill her because of what that thing is doing to her._

_ We do what we must to survive, _Shade insisted, but her resolve was very weak. Peter fought a sigh.

_Shade… you don't believe that. Sue is innocent. We fight the way we need to fight, but we do _not _harm her, got it?_

"You are a traitor, Colthraldrin," the suit said with Shade's voice. "Fighting your own kind? That's barbaric, even for _you._"

It laughed again. "I fight for my master; and it has gotten me far. Still clinging to random teenagers? Well, look at me! I have found power so great you can not even imagine it!"

"And that," Garrick interrupted them all, "Would be my cue to leave." Shade's hands hovered over where the bomb was on her chest, but he just rolled his eyes. "Please, Shade. Don't embarrass me any further. You clearly understand what you are up against; set that thing off, and this," he gestured to the silver suit, "Will simply shield me with one of those ever-handy force fields. Your death will be in vain." He started to move away. "You can surrender now, or die in vain _anyway. _Your call."

Shade, taking back control of her voice, let out a stream of expletives so vile that even Peter's ears began to burn. Garrick chuckled again.

"So be it," he waved over his shoulders, and the guards retreated with him, covering his back. "Destroy them," he ordered the silver suit.

Shade snorted. "Oh, very dramatic. Can't just say 'kill them' or anything simple like that. No we have to _'destroy them'_." She rolled her eyes.

_Shade, _Spider-Man protested. _Sue. We can't hurt Sue._

She hid a sigh. _We won't. _There was a moment's pause. _Maybe that's why you're the hero. _

Had Shade said this aloud, he would have gotten very little out of that statement. But linked this way, he understood a great deal of the thinking behind it; an impression of her feelings, when even she was unsure of it. Fleeting thoughts, random images. But they all indicated one thing; Peter was the hero because, even after all this time, he refused to hurt the innocent, to kill anyone with even a chance at being saved. Shade had crossed that line.

She could never save anyone. And thus could never be saved.

_That's not true, _he tried to object, but Shade's hand slipped from his own, and the link was lost.

"I will see the person I am to fight," Shade said coolly, slowly beginning to circle the silver symbiote. Spider-Man went in the other direction, but crashed into a force field- which fueled the creature's next bout of snickering- and was forced to go in the same direction as Shade.

"Oh, I suppose that's fair," it said; there was a little insane, hysterical joy in its voice as it agreed to this request. "The parasite fights the parasite, the host fights the host." The mask retreated from her face, revealing none other than Susan Storm. It was very eerie; she seemed to be entirely unconscious, her eyes closed. Then the mask covered her again, and she stood, battle-ready. "All right, then, let's get this over with."

"You are still focused on power, Colthraldrin." Shade said; Spider-Man assumed it what the suit actually speaking, though, as her voice had little inflection. "You don't see the truth; humans are not known, are not feared, for their power. They are feared for something else entirely."

"Yeah?" It sneered; clearly, the other suit had no problem mastering the concept of vocal tones. "What's that?"

"Their anger!" This was screamed out by Shade, and she threw herself forwards, onto the creature. She was barely blocked off by an enormous force field that threw her backwards. But now the suit was on the offensive; purple-blue fields encircled its wrists and fingers, flowing like water at first before slitting into fine razor blades. It threw them out, across the room, like shards of glass. Shade flipped up and out of the way, but one of them caught her in the leg. She hissed out a curse, but Spider-Man, who had ducked to the floor as opposed to leaped up, dove at Susan's legs -he couldn't think of it as anything but Susan, or he would end up depersonalizing her. She jumped up, riding a field like a surf board, the edges rimmed sharper than any blade, paper-thin and absolutely lethal as she started to fly around the room, making low swoops at both Spider-Man and the Dark- she was fully the Dark now, moving with swift ease and powerful hatred- while they ducked and dodged, trying to land a blow. The Dark's defense seemed much poorer than Spider-Man's; while he'd been dodging blows for years, she'd done nothing but fight offensively. She even fought running away so much that she probably no longer knew how.

Spider-Man dodged and weaved, trying to think of some wisecracks to keep himself moving but catching sight of The Dark every time he tried. The words would die in his throat; he couldn't stand it. The silent power in his friend still came from her rage. His earlier bloodlust was fading; he would fight with Shade, he would die with her, he would kill with her if he had to, but he hated it. He hated seeing this. He hated seeing her this way.

The other suit noticed Spider-Man's lack of speech. "What? No bad puns today? No stupid jokes? Nothing?"

But Spider-Man said nothing, dodging a well-aimed blow and searching silently for weaknesses. The creature laughed, throwing out more glass-shard fields that scattered around the room. One buried itself in Shade's shoulder, but she barely grunted, trying to blow it off before the suited figure flicked its fingers, digging it in deeper. It moved the shard sideways, cutting across her upper chest, almost catching her throat. Before it could aim it towards her heart, however, Spider-Man jumped the creature from behind and the field dissolved.

And the fight continued.

* * *

Two brothers and two enemies met under a cold silver moon, standing in the ashes of a young girl's life. A house had once been here, a house like any other, simple and plain. But it had been burnt to the ground long ago.

These two brothers, and these two enemies had met to discuss this girl whose life had been stolen, and the strange thing she wore.

One of them, wearing green and gold, kicked absentmindedly at the ashes, his ears pricked to hear all around him, observing without letting on that he was doing so. "Why have you brought me here, brother?" he asked of his enemy.

The other, wearing red and silver, towered over him, his eyes distant as thunder rumbled in the sky. "You know why. You spoke with the other. The Spider-Man."

"I did," the one in green confirmed, sifting the ashes through his fingers. He could taste battle in the air, the rank stench of raw, pointless bloodshed. "And you spoke with his female counterpart."

"I did," the one in red answered, his gaze still locked on the clouded skies.

"And what did you learn?" He asked, dusting the ash off of his fingers. "What did the dark have to teach?

"That she is more capable of hatred than perhaps even you. And the spider? What great tales did he tell you?"

"That he has more pity for fools than you, brother."

The two looked to each other at last. Then, silently, the enemy in red turned again and vanished into mist. The brother in green turned to the ashes, picked up a handful, and they began to glow. They ran through his fingers, orange, sparking embers, and swirled around him. When they died down, he had also disappeared.

There was a battle yet to come.

* * *

Shade whirled where she stood, narrowly missing a blow, her heart pounding and blood pouring down her shoulders and legs. Spider-Man wasn't looking so hot, either, with a couple of minor scrapes that cut through his costume, but he was certainly doing better than her. She might have been faster, and have knowledge of all of his fighting skills, but he had learned in the days since he'd worn the suit; and, beyond that, there was a big difference between knowing how to do something and actually doing it. But she couldn't defend herself; she kept leaving herself open to attack, always sacrificing herself to gain the upper hand on her opponent.

And did anyone expect something else of her? She had once jumped off a building to try and destroy a man she barely even knew; Edward Brock Jr. She didn't _do_ 'defense'. She was strictly offensive, because she'd never seen the point in living if you didn't _win_ your battles.

But winning this battle would just be a minor victory; living was her only option, so that she could return to win the only fight she really cared about.

_All right, _she thought at the suit. _How do I win this?_

_ Fight, _the suit answered, tightening on her, seeming panicked. _That's all you can do. _

_Fighting isn't working! _Shade mentally raged as she was forced to take a hard left and smacked into the wall there, cursing. _We need something else! We need an edge! Tell me everything about this suit, no matter how unimportant!_

"Spidey, cover me!" She cried as she ducked into a corner, waiting for the flash of pain that would give her the information she needed. Immediately, Spider-Man leapt in front of her, taking the other symbiote's attention away from her.

"Make it quick!" He called as Shade closed her eyes. A moment later, a flash-flood of info ran through her brain like a tidal wave of molten lava. It was a very quick flash, and an incredibly odd experience. When it was finished, it wasn't as though she'd just been given facts and figures; no, it was as though these things were _memories, _things she'd had her whole life. It was unnerving, but it had happened to her before, when the suit had been educating her on Peter Parker. So she knew what to expect.

She quickly sifted through these new memories, looking at it with a human's view so that she could get a fresh perspective on things. This symbiote must have been captured a long time ago. They would have 'starved' it, kept it away from a host for a very long time, then offered it all of the power of Susan Storm. Of course it had accepted her, and of course it would do anything for the people that had given her to it as a host.

But that triggered something in Shade; something she'd known for a while, just a background fact. Power would only take one of these creatures so far; what they truly thrived on was deep, raw emotion. Particularly anger.

And then something else; she pulled up another memory, more distinct, as it was one of her own as opposed to the suit's. The day she'd killed Brock, she'd held his head in her arms, and the suit had moved away from her hands. Whenever she'd touched the webbing that the suit had created, it had dissolved. It couldn't bear to hurt her; it wanted her too badly for that.

_Shade, are you insane? _The suit demanded. _No host could possibly… you can't! It isn't possible, Shade, don't even try! _

_ Will it save them?_

There was a cold undertone to these thoughts. _Shade, _the suit objected, but she cut it off again.

_Will it save them? _She asked again, determination shining in her hidden eyes. _Peter. Sue. Will they live?_

_**You **__will die! _

_ Will they live?_

_ Yes… no, I don't know! Shade, there's no way you could control your own actions, I can't let you…_

_ Then __**go! **__Release me, find a new host if you have to, but this is what I have to do!_

_ Shade…_

_ I never asked for you to stick with me through this! You've always had a choice, and you chose to stay, even when you knew what this was pushing me to, even when you knew I was ready to destroy myself to kill my father! So is it worth it, Lokes Forbandelse? _

"Shade! Are you done chatting yet? I'm kinda getting tired here!" Spider-Man said from the other side of the room, whirling away as Sue threw a fierce blow at him. He tried to throw his own counterattack to her, but she caught his arm and jabbed his ribs before he pulled away, wheezing slightly.

_Is it worth staying any more? _ Shade continued, trying to ignore her friend's urgency. _After all, I might have a better chance __**without **__you. _

_ No, _the suit answered, for once its words showing real emotion. There was steel in its thoughts, and Shade tasted the sharp tang of metal from its determination. _I will fight with you. I will not surrender you; now or ever. Not to that __**barbarian. **_

_Then fight. _Shade answered, standing and rushing at Susan. Spider-Man, seeing this, made sure her eyes were on him at the critical moment…

Shade's hands struck the creature; it whirled to react, to throw her aside, but froze mid-strike, allowing her to escape.

Susan started trembling where she stood; Spider-Man, seeming bewildered, came forwards, but Shade stopped him.

"No!" She shouted. "She's mine now."

Susan kept shaking. "You…" she breathed. "You're…"

Shade stood, battle-ready, but the light of victory was already shining in her eyes. "I am all yours, Banday Colthraldrin," she said, spreading her arms out wide.

It resisted, holding itself back. "No… your father… my orders… I _must _destroy you… my purpose…"

Shade laughed-that sickening girlish squeal she saved for her most hated enemies- and held out her arms. "You won't get a better chance." She sneered, then lunged. Her arms caught Susan's shoulders and flung her to the side, crashing into the wall. She didn't even react; she simply allowed Shade to toss her aside, then slumped to her side, dazed.

"Shade?" Spider-Man asked, coming to her side. "What's going on?"

For a moment, Shade was silent. Then she whirled on her friend, striking him in the chest and sending him flying backwards; his spider sense had never been able to work with the suit, and couldn't possibly have warned him. He went across the room, and Shade watched as his head cracked into the wall.

He looked up dizzily. "Shade…. What…?"

"Sorry, Pete," she answered quietly. "You wouldn't have let me do this." She walked away, over to the silver suit. It was looking up at her and whimpering, the suit starting to dissolve from around Susan, losing its shape and form. "You would've been right," Shade continued, then knelt down next to Susan's limp form. She stuck out her hand, her mask pulling back from her face to reveal a cold look in her eye.

"Leave her," she said, her words authoritative, commanding. "I will be your host."

* * *

Garrick Carson watched the screen, his eyes wide. This was impossible. This… this hadn't been calculated. This was a move so outrageous that it had never even been on the board.

He only realized now what a grave mistake he'd made, underestimating his opponent in the way he had. Indeed, he'd quite underestimated himself. He had made Shade this way, designed and engineered her to attract the symbiote. Any symbiote. So why was he surprised that she'd just become their most appealing prospect in the world?

He had severely misjudged his own abilities. And he had severely misjudged his daughter. The lengths to which she'd gone to, the depths to which she'd been willing to sink… as if strapping a bomb to her chest wasn't enough…!

He saw the silver symbiote tremble and shiver, then cave in and cross over to her. It spread over the blackness of her own suit, which struggled and writhed against it. The twin creatures battled it out over her, and Shade slumped to the ground, curling in a ball, holding herself together. She cried out every so often as the silver riddled the black like a disease, the two parasites all but merging into one. It must have been pure torture, the two creatures struggling for control, straining for command. She should have been screaming at the top of her lungs.

Instead, she just glared hatefully at the camera, as though she knew he was watching. Her eyes were bloodshot, red-rimmed. Her face was bruised and scuffed up as the silver and black spread over it. She doubled over and gasped in agony as Spider-Man dropped to her side.

He should have seen this coming, he realized too late. Susan Storm, while powerful, did not have the anger that the silver suit had needed. Though otherwise powerless, anger was one thing that Shade had never lacked.

"Get Susan out of here," she rasped as Spider-Man came to his side.

"No," he snapped, looking a bit wobbly on his feet but staying by her side nonetheless. "I'm not leaving you, Shade! I won't! Don't make me into a coward!"

"I'll make you into a _corpse _if you don't get Susan and get _out of here!"_ Shade strained to say, then collapsed on her hands and knees, trying to regain her breath. "GO!"

"No… Shade, no, give me one of them, I'll take it back, just… don't do this…"

She choked. _"Go._"

He tried to complain again, but she shot him a look that, even covered, must have burned holes in him. "Please," she begged. "I'll come back to you, I swear, just _please. _Let me go."

He hesitated warily for a long time, then nodded slowly, going to Susan's side. She was still unconscious, and Spider-Man slung her over his shoulder, webbing her in place before launching out the window. Shade really cracked then, her head falling to the ground.

So Garrick did what he'd always done to her; the only thing that seemed natural in their relationship anymore. He helped her to be a fighter.

He gently tapped an intercom button with his index finger. "Oh, Shade," he whispered, knowing the words would resonate in the other room. "I am so proud of you…"

She looked up at the camera, trembling with fury and pain, then screamed. It was an unearthly, haunting sound, ragged and hoarse, and it seemed entirely endless. She threw out her hands; force fields cut across the room, and almost every camera went dead. The only one that didn't, hiding behind his desk, showed him the visual of her turning invisible, a small trail of blood exiting the room.

"And I…" she gasped out, probably thinking he couldn't hear her, "Hate myself for it."

* * *

It had been three weeks since the incident with the Braith. It was almost Christmas vacation; the excitement in the air was palpable. Everywhere Peter went, it smelt like peppermint, pine and/or hot cocoa. Even the villains seemed to be giving it a break; he hadn't seen hide or hair of any of them since December had begun. Even the Braith had cooled it off for a while.

It was the last day of school before the holidays; Peter wished he could be more excited about that. He wished he could have normal worries, like what he was going to do on Christmas, and if he'd be able to help his aunt with the cooking without burning the house to the ground. He wished he could talk to Harry and MJ about what he thought he was getting. He wished that the Christmas carols would lighten his spirits.

But all he wanted for Christmas this year was to see his best friend sitting in his living room. He didn't care if she was upside-down on the ceiling, drinking tea as she talked to his aunt about the latest person she'd tortured (ok, maybe he cared about the torture, but the display of freaky spider powers? Not so much). He didn't care if she'd managed to kill her father. He didn't _care _if she had two of those alien bastards attached to her now. He just wanted her here, with him, and safe.

Safe. As if. Shade wasn't really the 'safe' type. She was the kind of person who'd go jaywalking on the highway for a laugh, or play chicken on railroad tracks. But he wanted her safe anyway. He wanted her whole. He wanted to never see her in the kind of pain she'd been when he'd left.

He wondered… _No. _No, he wouldn't even think that. Shade was alive. She had to be. She was alive, but it was just taking her a while to get control of her new abilities. That was it. That was the only reason she hadn't come to see him yet.

He came through the door, his ears straining for any sound of Shade talking with Aunt May, or maybe stealing his shower, or raiding his fridge. He'd give anything for those sounds right now, he really would.

But there was nothing. Only the sound of his aunt, making hot cocoa. He went to the kitchen and found her there with not two mugs, but three. He knew better than to assume that this meant anything, though. His aunt had been making a third serving of everything 'just in case'. Because no one should be alone on Christmas, she'd said. Because Shade would come back to them.

Peter had to think that Shade had made a bigger impression on May than he'd first thought. She seemed almost as anxious as he was to see her again. But she kept it hidden well. She turned to him with a smile, placing a candy cane into the hot chocolate. "Peter dear! Welcome home! Are you happy to be on vacation at last?"

In all honesty, yes, he was. Vacation would give him more time to look for Shade. More time to figure things out about the Braith. But it would also give him a lot more time to worry about things, too.

"Yeah," he answered, then thanked her for the cocoa and went to sit in the living room, putting on an old science fiction show-one of the cheesy black and white ones that had model clay monsters destroying tiny plastic towns- and phased out, not really paying attention to anything.

_I'd give anything to see her again, _he thought to himself. _Anything at all. _

"You seem worried about something."

He jumped; it was not his aunt's voice. Immediately, his muscles tensed, his eyes alight and ready for a death match. Leaning against the wall, out of sight from where his aunt was in the kitchen, was the man he'd seen on that night, the one who'd told him where Shade was. He hadn't changed out of his creepy battle armor, and still wore that forest green cloak on his shoulders.

"What do you want?" Peter snarled at him, hands clenched in fists as he reviewed escape routes. He'd gone over them with his aunt a few times, but there was no clear signal he could give her right now. He could only hope she'd spot the threat and know to run.

"Oh, nothing," the man said, coming to sit on the couch. He gestured for Peter to sit next to him, as though it were _his _house, not Peter's. He obeyed cautiously, still watching the man and still coiled and ready to spring.

At that moment, Aunt May came in the room, holding a small tray with a sandwich and some other snacks on it. "Peter, I've got your dinn- oh. Hello."

She looked at the man, startled. "I'm sorry," she said with a smile, trying not to look too freaked out. Succeeding brilliantly, too; only Peter could detect the faint tug downwards at the corner of her lip. "I didn't hear you come in."

"He's a… well, he's here about the Dark," Peter told her. That sentence explained quite a bit; the fact that he'd used the Dark's name quickly confirmed that he was here to talk to Spider-Man; not to Peter Parker.

"Oh," May said, looking mollified. "I see. Did you know her very well?" She asked the man.

He smiled, not too creepily this time. "Not as such. You could say I know her through a mutual acquaintance." His grin spread, including a little more creepy.

"Yes," said Peter abruptly. "But he may know where she is. If you could give us a moment?" he said it all rather politely, but his eyes did not leave the man as he spoke.

"Certainly," May agreed. "You're dinner's here, Peter," she added, leaving it on the little table by the couch. Peter nodded and, as soon as May had left, the man began poking at the food. He selected a small ham-and-cheese-stuffed roll and nibbled at it, raising his eyebrows.

"Not bad," he said agreeably, then turned to Peter. "Still lying to her, I see."

"It wasn't a lie," Peter said, shocked, but the man rolled his eyes.

"Please. You have no idea if I know where Shade is. You just wanted her out of the room so I wouldn't suddenly jump up and kill her."

"I can't trust that you won't," Peter said severely.

"And after all I've done for you!" The man said, gesturing to himself with a mock-hurt expression. "After all, I told you where your little friend was; and beyond that, I warned you what would happen if you let her reach the top floor."

"You didn't warn me about crap! You just said she shouldn't get there; not that she had a _bomb _strapped to her chest!"

He lowered his voice on the words 'bomb strapped to her chest'. That was one thing he hadn't told May yet. It was Shade's secret, not his. The man seemed to notice, his eyes lighting with a strange curiosity, but he said nothing on the matter.

"Well, you needn't worry about me, though I suppose you will anyway. Mortals are rather persistent with their trust issues. But I don't make it a habit of killing old ladies for fun." He screwed up his features, then looked to Peter, studying him intently. "Just answer me this; did you mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"That you would give anything to see Shade again," the other man answered with a smile.

Peter's eyes went wide. "How did you… how did you know I was thinking that?"

"Oh, please. Those words to me are like honey is to bees. Absolutely beautiful, entirely intoxicating. I thrive off of deals, Mr. Parker, and people that desperate are always willing to make some very interesting ones."

"You mean ones that work in your favor," Peter said wryly.

"Well, it wouldn't be much of a deal if it didn't," the man answered, grinning. "So what would you be willing to sacrifice, hmm? To see Shade again?"

"So you do know where she is?"

"Oh, that is nothing you want to know, believe me," the man waved his arms quickly to exaggerate his point. "No, simply knowing where she is will not be enough any more. What you need to know is what is necessary to bring her back."

Peter felt a strange chill down his spine that had absolutely nothing to do with the outside pre-Christmas snow. "What do you mean, 'bring her back'?"

"Well, your little girlfriend"- Peter blushed at the term, but he didn't seem to notice- "is at a tipping point. One shove in the wrong direction, and she could be lost forever. But a push in the right direction could bring her back; and you will want to know how to give her that push."

"How?" Peter asked immediately. "How do I help her?"

The man chuckled. "My, my, so eager. All right, Peter, I'll tell you." He pulled something out from inside his cloak; Peter's heart thudded in his chest as he recognized the silver shape.

"You have to give this a host."

* * *

Shade shivered in the snow. It had been many days since that stranger had come and spoken with her symbiote-the black one- and made an agreement. It had forcibly removed the silver one- a very painful process- then vanished into the drifting blizzard. But she could still feel it there, tearing at her mind, warring with the black symbiote.

She found no comfort in the suit's embrace as she curled into a ball, the snow crunching around her. She was tucked away in the coldest, darkest alley she could find, so alone in the world and yet not alone in the one place she needed to be; in her own mind. Her still-healing wounds throbbed; frequently, in her many mad dashes, she'd end up injuring herself. Even though the injuries from her attack on the Braith were healing, these new ones were fairly fresh, and split open whenever she moved. She tried to keep moving to a minimum.

But then she'd feel them fighting over her emotions again, trying to stoke them into ever-greater rage to fuel the needs of them both. It was all too much, and then all she could do was run, turning to that hateful instinct, the one skill she had as herself-without all of this symbiotic craziness- the ability to run faster than anyone… And she would hear her father's words in her ears again, and have to keep running, fear moving her footsteps as she fled.

She heard footsteps crunching towards her; she glanced upwards to see that what little light she'd had was blocked by a tall figure. She shielded her face with a weak, trembling hand; she hadn't eaten in days, and she was incredibly exhausted. All she felt like doing was curling up in the snowdrifts and letting them take her anywhere they wanted; even to death's door.

_Let me die, _she pled of the man standing above her. _Please, just let me die in peace. I don't care about my father anymore, I just want to die, I want to see Ash again… don't take me away from my baby brother again…_

"What's this?" The man asked, his voice more triumphant than Shade would have liked. But it was also terribly familiar; her gut churned.

_Not him, _she begged silently. _Please, not him, not here, not now… _

But as his face leaned over her, she couldn't deny it any longer; the smiling, all-too-happy-to-see-her-near-death face of J. Jonah Jameson stood above her. She curled up into her ball even tighter, but her muscles were too weak and frail to hold her there, her bones too brittle. Her feet and fingers were numb with cold.

"The Dark, huh?" He asked, looking positively gleeful. "All alone, probably beaten by one of her little super-villain allies… What an exclusive! J. Jonah Jameson unmasks The Dark, one of the most _pathetic _and _unsuccessful _vigilantes of all time…"

She knew he was just talking about what the rest of the world had seen of her; that she'd foiled one robbery and then dropped off the face of the planet. But her heart ached anyway; she didn't need one more person telling her about her failures. She turned her face into the snow, moving partially onto her stomach and stifling a shriek as it sent pain flaring through her entire body. She felt warm blood pooling on the ground where the gash in her side had been ripped open again. It steamed against the freezing snow, but she couldn't see how; her blood had to be as frozen as the icy ground around her. She felt like she was part of this artic wasteland, so deathly cold that surely she was as pale and frosty as her surroundings.

And then J. Jonah Jameson, who had been reaching down to unmask her, gasped. He must have seen the blood. More than that, he had a better view of her spine now; her spine which stood out so clearly against her suit, even though it tried so hard to cover her weaknesses, to keep her from looking like the frail child she really was. Her bones stuck out so prominently that she was worried she would never be able to get up, never be able to survive this.

He seemed to do a double take, looking her over, taking her entire form in. How short she was. How tiny. The huge presence she'd always commanded had now diminished, vanished from the world forever. She had been stripped of her strength, her defenses burnt to the ground, her shields against the world ripped down and disintegrated. She was left out in the streets, raw and exposed, so that everyone could see what she really was; a teenage girl with major daddy issues and no future, playing dress-up.

"You're… you're nothing more than a child, are you?" She had expected to hear disgust in his voice, but it held only terror, only amazement. "Are you?" his voice rose as he came closer. She tried to cover herself with the snow, too weak to stand and fight him, too weak to run away, too weak to do anything.

"How old are you?" he demanded. "Answer me!"

What did she have to lose anymore? She turned to him, but instead of answering, she did something neither of them expected.

"Please," she begged, her voice sounding exactly like a little girl's. "Please, help me."

Jameson stared at her for a very long time, saying nothing, doing _nothing._ Just... watching her. Umoving, unblinking.

Then, slowly, he reached down and lifted her off the ground. From the way he braced himself, it was obvious that he expected a challenge in this task. But Shade was about as heavy as a sack of potatoes; he picked her up easily.

"It's ok," he told her, trying to be comforting but talking slightly awkwardly. "You'll be ok. I'll take care of you."


End file.
